


A Day at the Park

by taradiane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mpreg, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1403215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taradiane/pseuds/taradiane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A not-so-chance encounter at a park sets the course for a shocking discovery that would change Harry's life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day at the Park

**Author's Note:**

> Written June 2011 for the harrydracompreg fest.

**\\\\\ _May_ ///**

  
Walking through the tall iron gates that led into Russell Square Gardens, Harry was pleased to find that not many Londoners had ventured into its perimeter on this atypically cool spring day. He paused just past the entryway and looked around; the sun was high in the sky, and the plethora of tall trees provided plush green colours to the canvas laid out before him. Harry tightened his grip on the leash in his left hand while adjusting the neck strap of his camera bag with the other before beckoning his dog to follow.

  
"Come on, old girl, I see a spot over there that's waiting for you."

  
The King Charles Cavalier spaniel that he'd adopted from a shelter six years earlier trotted alongside him happily, her jaunty gait belying her old age.

  
"How about this tree, eh, Maisy?" The dog replied by sitting down and looking up at him, panting from exertion.

  
Harry knelt down and tugged the rucksack from his shoulder, pulling out a bottle of water and small bowl to fill for her.

  
"There's a good girl," he said softly, smoothing the black hair on her head.

  
Clouds started to gather overhead. It wasn't likely to rain, but it was going to block out all the good sunlight, and Harry loved the way the shadows from the trees cut geometric shapes into the bright swathes of light.

  
Harry knew she likely only had a few months left – six at the most – before her body finally gave up. He had carried her most of the way to the park as it was, but it didn't take much to wear her out these days. The adoption had been Hermione's idea almost nine years earlier on the eve of Harry's twenty-first birthday. She had gone with him to the shelter, and Harry knew the moment he saw the five year old dog limp toward him that she was the one. According to the volunteer who was trying to steer him toward a new litter of terrier pups, Maisy had been mistreated by her previous owner who never bothered to seek out care after she'd broken her leg.

  
Hermione had rolled her eyes at Harry finding the most pitiful animal within mere seconds of walking through the door and claiming the dog as his own. _"You are so predictable, Harry,"_ she'd said to him affectionately as Harry signed the papers.

  
Three days later, his new companion had been cleared from the shelter's quarantine after receiving all her shots and being declared flea-free. On the same afternoon that he'd brought Maisy home, not five minutes after he'd walked through his front door at 12 Grimmauld Place, Minister Shacklebolt's lynx Patronus had appeared and told him to come to the Burrow immediately.

  
Harry would never forget the icy chill that consumed him the moment that Kingsley had told him that Ron and Hermione were dead, having been killed in an explosion at Gringotts that had claimed the lives of 39 others as well. They'd been at the Wizarding bank pulling out funds for their first proper holiday abroad. When Molly was given the packet of Ron's belongings, including his tattered clothes and shattered wristwatch, the Portkey registration ticket for Tenerife was still tucked into his jeans pocket.

  
Molly had been numb during the days after, and the sight of her at the funeral actually frightened Harry. Her normally warm and flushed skin was ashen and drawn, her face a stoic mask. He hadn't remembered her looking so utterly destroyed when Fred had died, devastated as they all were. At least then she had cried and wept openly as the family shared their grief. Arthur had quietly asked Harry to stay with them, worried as he was about Molly's fragile emotional state and hoping that having Ron's closest friend in the house would make a measure of difference in getting her through her grief. He'd agreed without hesitation.

  
Harry had always suspected that Molly had a soft spot for her youngest boy despite Ron's insecurities of having to live up to his siblings in everyone's eyes. Harry remembered the day that Molly had finally fallen to pieces two weeks after the funeral. He had passed by Ron's bedroom and found the door ajar, hearing quiet movement inside. Molly was sitting on Ron's bed, a large packet resting atop her lap. She'd gently opened the paper envelope stamped _Victim's Remains_ , the one containing the charred tatters of Ron's favourite Chudley Cannons jumper tucked inside.

  
Harry will never forget the overwhelmingly broken sound of misery that she'd made before bursting into tears and crumpling to the floor. He'd cradled her then, much like she had done for him on countless other occasions. She hadn't been the same since that day. Losing Fred had been devastating for the family, but to also lose Ron barely three years later . . .

  
The Weasleys weren't the only ones who would never be the same. Something died inside of Harry that day, and ten months later, he'd walked out of the brick archway behind The Leaky Cauldron that separated wizard from Muggle for the last time, and into the streets of London. He never looked back. His weekly letters to Molly and Arthur - and the occasional missive to Ginny, George, and Bill - were his only link to the World that he'd all but erased from his memories eight years earlier.

  
Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Remus. Tonks. Fred. He'd had enough.

  
Harry opened the clasp on his camera bag and pulled out his favourite Hasselblad camera from its compartment. Maisy was napping lazily atop a small blanket that he'd laid out for her at the base of a large hollyoak tree, and Harry paused for several moments to take in his surroundings, listening to the soft breeze blowing through the leaves mingled with traffic from the road just beyond the garden's borders. He always did this before he started shooting, waiting for the perfect composition of images to direct him; the combination of still life and movement from the landscape his only guide.

  
Off in the distance, a young boy sat on one of the benches that went around the walking path that circled the modest park. Harry surmised that he couldn't have been more than nine or ten, and he was focused on something in his hand - a bug perhaps, or an interesting pebble from the ground. Harry's mind flashed back to memories of his own summer days at the Dursleys where being ordered out into the garden to pull weeds or trim the rose bushes was one of the few escapes from the dull banality of his existence. He had loved the feel of the warm breeze and the hot summer heat pressing into his skin as he worked.

  
The boy looked up, his gaze immediately focusing on Harry. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds long enough to glint off the lenses of the boy's glasses. They stared at one another for several moments before Harry looked away. His finger on the shutter button itched to capture the moment, but Harry had a rule about not taking photographs of people without their permission regardless of whether or not it might end up in one of his books or a gallery wall. Call it a leftover quirk from the days when blurry and not so blurry photos of himself would turn up in Wizarding publications on a weekly basis.

  
Harry turned his attention to a red squirrel perched on a thick branch on a tree several feet away. He raised the camera, positioned the viewfinder, and zoomed in before taking several shots. He paused, waiting for the squirrel to eventually look his way, and just as the animal did exactly that, Harry felt a tug on his shirt.

  
Standing next to him was the boy from the bench, his messy dark blond hair hanging low in his eyes and nearly over top of the lenses in his wire-framed glasses. It looked as though it hadn't seen a comb in several days. His bright blue cotton t-shirt and dark trousers looked freshly pressed, and as Harry gave him a quick once-over, he noticed his shoes bore not a speck of dirt.

  
Something about this boy with his delicate face seemed familiar, but Harry couldn't place him. Perhaps he'd seen him in the park once before - Harry came here often as it was in close proximity to his home.

  
"Hello," the boy said quietly, light blue eyes looking up at Harry expectantly. "Is that your dog?"

  
"It is," Harry answered, glancing back up at the tree and frowning that the squirrel was no longer there.

  
"Does it bite?"

  
" _It_ is a _she_ , and no she doesn't," Harry corrected him, kneeling down next to the dog and rubbing the area behind her ears where she liked to be scratched.

  
"Can I pet her?"

  
Harry nodded, watching as the boy sat down next to Maisy and tentatively ran his hand along her back. The dog seemed nonplussed about the extra attention.

  
"What's her name?"

  
"Maisy."

  
"I always wanted a dog. I'd name him Bob," he said matter-of-factly.

  
Harry wasn't sure what to think of the child who, by Harry's estimation, should be in school and not lazing about in a park.

  
"You like taking pictures?" he asked, using his thumb to push up his glasses.

  
"Enough to make it a full-time job."

  
"You must be good, then," the boy said, brushing bits of grass from the soles of his shoes.

  
"Some people think so."

  
"My name's Jamie," he offered expectantly.

  
"I'm Harry."

  
"You live around here?"

  
Harry was increasingly perplexed by the child's pointed questions, as if he were running down a mental list in his mind, ticking them off as he went.

  
"Do you?" Harry responded with a question of his own.

  
Jamie shrugged.

  
"Are you here alone?"

  
The boy turned and looked around as though searching, and then pointed at a grey-haired woman on the opposite end of the park who was focused on the ball of yarn in her lap and the knitting needles in her hands.

  
"That's my gran over there."

  
"Didn't she ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"

  
"You don't look very strange, and besides, now that I know your name, you aren't a stranger anymore," Jamie reasoned.

  
"Knowing someone's name doesn't mean they aren't still a stranger to you."

  
"Plus, you've got a dog."

  
"That makes a difference?" Harry asked, amused.

  
Jamie shrugged again.

  
"Well, it's time for me and Maisy to head home," Harry said after letting Jamie pet his dog for a few more moments, bending to pick her up.

  
"But you only just got here."

  
Harry was a bit startled by the observation and the boy looked away self-consciously.

  
"I saw you come in."

  
Harry shifted Maisy to his other arm and peered curiously at the boy, noticing in the light how dirty his glasses were. He had the urge to whip out his wand and clean them.

  
"The lighting isn't as good here today as I had hoped it would be," Harry said, gesturing with his camera. "Come on, I'll walk you back over to your gran."

  
The boy dragged a line through the grass with his trainers and looked away again.

  
"Actually…"

  
"Yes?"

  
"That's not really my gran."

  
"Seems a silly thing to waste a lie on."

  
"I 'spose."

  
A tickle of concern started to make itself known in Harry's belly.

  
"Do you live nearby?"

  
"No."

  
"Care to elaborate?"

  
Jamie hesitated before replying. "Not really."

  
"You're just full of secrets, aren't you?"

  
"Everybody's got secrets," he said quietly, which did nothing to assuage Harry's growing worry.

  
"How old did you say you were?"

  
Jamie brightened a bit at the question. "I didn't, but I'll be eleven on August 29th."

  
"Shouldn't you be in school right now?"

  
"I was feeling poorly this morning."

  
"You don't look like you're feeling poorly now," Harry chided gently. "Where are your mum and dad?"

  
"Haven't got any."

  
"Oh," Harry said, wishing he hadn't asked. "I'm sorry."

  
"Not your fault."

  
"So who takes care of you?"

  
"Foster family. They don't pay me much mind, though."

  
Something twinged in Harry's heart at that - no mum and dad, and caretakers who apparently could care less where the boy was? He could sympathise.

  
"I assume that they're aware that you're here all by yourself?"

  
"I'm nearly eleven," the boy said defensively.

  
Harry gave him a pointed look.

  
"Do you want to take my picture?" Jamie pointed at Harry's camera.

  
"You're a curious little fellow, aren't you?"

  
"You can photograph me if you want."

  
"I don't photograph children without a parent's permission."

  
"Why?"

  
"Because," Harry said.

  
"That's not an answer."

  
"You didn't answer my question about school, so I guess that makes us even."

  
"Fair enough," Jamie grimaced, not liking Harry's logic before smiling suddenly, "but I haven't got any parents for you to ask, so you can take my picture now, can't you?"

  
Harry raised his camera and pressed the shutter button without even looking through the viewfinder.

  
"There - you've officially been photographed."

  
"Is that going to be in the newspaper?"

  
"I'm not really that sort of photographer."

  
"Oh," the boy said, disappointed. "Well you should keep it for yourself, then. I might be famous one day."

  
"Thanks, I'll do that," Harry laughed, bemused at the easy confidence of this strange child.

  
"Look, I've got to go - do you want me to take you home?"

  
"Why, do you have a car?"

  
"No, but that doesn't mean that I can't get you there."

  
"No, I can get there on my own."

  
Harry hesitated, unsure of what to do. On one hand, the boy was only ten years old, but on the other hand, he looked well taken care of. For all Harry knew, he lived around the corner and Harry was making a big deal out of nothing. He also wasn't entirely keen on being seen leaving the park with a young boy that he had no tie to - if something were to happen later. . .

  
Harry went with his gut instinct. "If you're sure."

  
"I am," Jamie answered confidently.

  
Harry nodded, and turned to leave. He stopped after a few steps and looked back to find Jamie still watching him.

  
"Oh, and Jamie?"

  
"Yeah?"

  
"Remember what I said about talking to strangers, will you?"

  
Jamie smiled, and Harry could feel the boy watching him as he walked way.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
Three days later, Harry returned to the park in the hopes of having better luck at taking some nature shots now that the sun was cooperating. Russell Square Gardens wasn't large by any means, but it had some fantastic trees and a lovely selection of flowers around the perimeter.

  
He'd left Maisy at home; she wasn't having one of her better days with her bad hip giving her more trouble than usual. Harry walked over to a deserted corner of the park and toward a grouping of bright yellow daffodils. He knelt down and pointed his camera, focusing his lens for some close-up shots.

  
"Hello."

  
Harry nearly fell flat on his arse at the unexpected interruption - Harry hadn't even heard him approach. Jamie stood next to him, a large cup of what was likely something fizzy and sugary in his hand. He smiled at Harry before taking a long sip from the bendy straw.

  
"Jamie, you startled me."

  
"I know," the boy said, giving him a toothy grin.

  
"Still not in school, I see."

  
"Still feeling poorly," Jamie answered, still smiling. "What are you doing?"

  
"By all appearances, taking pictures."

  
Harry knelt down again and tried to focus on a large bumblebee that was lazily hovering over one of the flowers.

  
"Can I watch?"

  
"If you want," Harry answered as he took several photos of the insect.

  
"Where's your dog?"

  
"She's at home."

  
"Why?"

  
"Because she, unlike you, really doesn't feel well."

  
Harry lowered the camera and switched to the waist level viewfinder.

  
"Is she going to die?"

  
Harry was taken aback by the unexpected question.

  
"Eventually, yes," he answered honestly.

  
Jamie was quiet for several moments after that, following Harry as he made his way around the park. Harry found that he didn't actually mind the company.

  
"So people actually pay you to take photographs of plants?"

  
"Among other things, yes."

  
"Seems a bit boring."

  
"To each his own."

  
"Can I try?"

  
"Um," Harry hesitated, contemplating whether or not he wanted to hand the boy a camera that had cost him nearly £7,000 pounds.

  
"I'll be careful, I promise."

  
Harry took a deep breath before removing the strap from around his neck and switching the camera to autofocus.

  
"Come stand here," he said, positioning Jamie directly in front of him so that he could help keep hold of the camera from over the boy's shoulder.

  
"Look through the viewfinder here- that's it, now place your finger on that button."

  
"Push it now?"

  
"Do you see what you want to photograph through the lens?"

  
"Yeah."

  
"Okay, you should see a little square show up, and you want that to be around the object that you want to capture - that's telling you where the camera is focused."

  
"Got it."

  
"Okay, now with your hands very still - that's good - go ahead and press the shutter button."

  
Jamie gave Harry a big smile as he lowered the camera.

  
"That was kind of fun! When can I see my picture?"

  
"Right now it's stored inside the camera."

  
"Oh," the boy's face fell at the lack of instant gratification.

  
"Tell you what, I'll be here again on Thursday. If you can manage to meet me here, say around three o'clock, I'll bring you a copy of your photo to take home with you."

  
"Brilliant!"

  
Jamie's smile was infectious, and Harry couldn't help but smile back.

  
"I'm hungry."

  
The mention of food made Harry remember that he'd actually forgotten to eat breakfast. The early call from the Smythe Gallery on Eastcastle Street in Fitzrovia had been an unexpected surprise that morning, and he'd been excitedly distracted from food with the prospect of a show at one of the top privately-funded galleries in London.

  
"Me too, actually."

  
"We could go to that caf up the road," Jamie suggested, "I have money."

  
"Jamie-"

  
"I like salmon with watercress. Do you?"

  
"Er-"

  
"Tuna mayo is good sometimes, too."

  
"Look, Jamie," Harry hesitated, "I'm not sure that I'm okay with taking you anywhere without your foster parents knowing about it. They don't know me, and neither do you."

  
"Yes I do, you're Harry."

  
"That's not-"

  
"They won't care, honest," the boy pleaded, "they're the ones who gave me the pocket money besides. Told them that I wanted to get a sandwich on my way home from the museum."

  
"But you aren't at the museum."

  
"I was going to go and then changed my mind."

  
"So they _don't_ know where you are," Harry countered.

  
"The museum is just around the corner," the boy shot back.

  
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

  
Jamie shrugged.

  
Harry conceded, blaming his empty, rumbling stomach on his poor judgment.

  
"All right, but we're going to go in, buy something to eat, and bring it right back here - understood?"

  
"I like al fresco," Jamie nodded, grinning triumphantly.

  
"You're a strange kid, did anyone ever tell you that?"

  
"Loads of times."

  
Harry laughed, and they made their way to the iron gates at the front of the park.

  
"Salmon and watercress?" Harry asked. " _Really_?"

  
"It's the best."

  
**\\\\\ _June_ ///**

  
"I'll be ready by the end of July, it won't be a problem," Harry said into the telephone; Yvette - the administrator of the Smythe Gallery - on the other end of the line.

  
They said their goodbyes and arranged to speak again in two weeks time before Harry hung up the line. He desperately wanted to call Stuart and tell him about the show, but refrained. He wanted it to be a surprise, considering he was unknowingly going to be the star of the show. Harry studied the portrait that he'd chosen to be the featured piece, pleased with his decision. Harry'd taken the photograph - unbeknownst to Stuart - about five years earlier; back when they'd still been dating. Harry had fond memories of that early December morning. There had been a light dusting of snow on the yew tree just outside Stuart's bedroom window, and the sun was especially bright in the winter sky.

  
The formidably handsome, dark-haired man had lay asleep in the large bed, sprawled across the entirety as he always had whether Harry was with him or not. The soft white cotton linens had been piled up around him to keep out the morning chill, and the dark shock of hair on the oversized pillow was an appealing contrast that had Harry quietly sneaking into the kitchen where he'd left his camera bag the night before.

  
Stuart was attractive in a way that Harry knew he never would be; his bone structure was more refined and delicate, yet still masculine. Their mutual friend Stephanie had set them up, and she'd told Harry the night before they had first been introduced that Stuart had the face of a model and the body of a rugby player. She was right on both counts. They'd had an intense relationship for just over a year before Harry broke things off two days before his twenty-sixth birthday. To this day, he couldn't give a definite reason as to why things hadn't been working with Stuart, Harry only knew that he was wasting both their time. The sex was adequate, and there was a solid, genuine friendship between them, but to use Stephanie's phrase, there was no _oomph_ there. For Harry, it was the friendship that kept him in the relationship for so long - he didn't want to lose that part of Stuart.

  
The break-up had been practically a non-event over toast and coffee - so much so that when Harry had arrived home when all was said and done, he wasn't entirely sure that Stuart was aware of what Harry had actually done. It wasn't until he'd had lunch with Stephanie two days later that Harry found out just how gutted Stuart had been about Harry's decision. The other man hadn't felt the same way as Harry - not by a long shot. Stuart had been all too ready to move things to the next level and ask Harry to move in with him; apparently he'd already had a spare key made and was planning on giving it to Harry that same week. He hadn't spoken to Harry for nearly three months afterward, but after a lot of prodding from Stephanie, Stuart had stopped pretending that Harry no longer existed at gatherings where they were both present.

  
They were friends now, though Stuart kept him at arm's length. Harry didn't mind - he was just glad to have his friend back.

  
Harry had other friends - but they were more acquaintances than anything else, as Harry kept mostly to himself. He always preferred close relationships with a few over a long list of friends whose birthdays he couldn't keep straight - quality over quantity. He'd originally met Stephanie at a bookstore she managed when he was doing a signing for his first - and only - photography book. Three people had approached the table that day, and Stephanie later admitted that she'd felt sorry for him and hadn't actually expected him to drink the umpteen cups of tea that she had brought to him that day.

  
That book was his first professional venture into photography after a chance meeting with a book editor at a Camden café.

  
And then he'd met Stephanie at the bookstore, whose brother-in-law just so happened to run a small art gallery in Mayfair.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
Harry had never imagined himself a photographer; he'd never imagined himself having anything at all to do with cameras after his rather unsavoury experiences with Rita Skeeter and her fellow 'journalists.' Truth be told, he'd never even picked up a camera before until after the war when the dust had settled and the bodies were all buried, and a visitor had come to see him.

  
It was four days after the funeral for Remus and Tonks when Harry had answered a knock on the door of the Burrow to find Dennis Creevey standing there, looking every bit as much the innocent 'ickle firstie' as he had when Harry'd first clapped eyes on him all those years ago.

  
_"It was Colin's. I think that you should have it."_

_  
"Dennis, I…"_

_  
"Just take it. I've no use for it."_

_  
Harry hesitated before reaching for the camera across the table._

_  
"Thank you."_

_  
"He really liked you, Harry. Admired you a lot, he did."_

_  
Harry didn't know what to say. He was numb inside; he'd said goodbye to so many people recently._

_  
"I'm sorry that I…about what happened."_

_  
"I know. It's not your fault."_

_  
"I'll keep this safe. Just in case you decide that you'd like it back one day."_

  
When Dennis had left, Harry'd sat there at the Weasleys' kitchen table for some time, just staring at Colin's camera as a myriad of emotions and memories raced through him. Colin had been such a nuisance in Harry's eyes on so many occasions, and he felt horrible guilt over how he'd treated the younger boy when Harry just couldn't be bothered - he had never been outwardly cruel, but his unfeeling dismissal of Colin's attempts to gain Harry's attentions time and time again left Harry with a shameful and sour taste in his mouth. In retrospect, Harry could see how tightly locked he, Ron, and Hermione had kept their inner circle locked up - aside from Luna, Neville, and Ginny, all of the others were little better than background scenery. Even most members of the DA, of which Colin and Dennis were both members, were excluded from their clique.

  
And now, so many of them were dead; killed in a war they'd never signed up for and their fates having been sealed by the actions of one teenage boy who'd had no clue what he was doing.

  
It wasn't until about four months after Dennis's visit that Harry, in a bout of boredom and melancholy, picked up the antiquated Argus C3 Matchmatic camera and started taking pictures.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
"Look - see how the light's hitting that hotel? Cutting that line across the side, and then the shadows that the arches on the roof cast on the ground?" Harry pointed, mirroring the lines with a slashing motion. "Those are the sorts of things that I look for and highlight in a lot of the pictures that I take."

  
"Like this one?" Jamie asked, pointing out a photograph of King's Cross train station in Harry's book on London architecture. He'd been especially proud of that particular shot.

  
"Exactly," Harry replied.

  
"Have you done any other books, then?"

  
"No, just the one."

  
"Do you want to?" Jamie asked, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight.

  
"Maybe."

  
"Well what else do you do with all those pictures you take?"

  
"Some I keep for myself - most of them, actually." Harry walked over to one of the trees and sat down in the shade, and Jamie followed. "Sometimes I'll have a show if a gallery owner is interested in featuring my work, and I'll pull out my favourites that haven't been seen before."

  
"I know what I'm going to be when I grow up."

  
"Oh? What's that?" Harry asked, pulling two shiny red apples from his rucksack and tossing one of them to Jamie.

  
"I'm going to drive in the Grand Prix."

  
Jamie took a large bite from his apple and smiled as he chewed.

  
"A lofty and worthy goal."

  
They sat in comfortable silence, devouring their fruit.

  
"I nearly forgot," Harry said suddenly, wiping his hand along his trouser leg and winking at Jamie when he'd snickered at him for it. "I have something for you."

  
Harry reached into his bag again and pulled out a folder, opening it up and taking out a single picture - the one that Jamie had taken a few days earlier.

  
"This is mine?" Jamie asked, touching the photograph reverently.

  
"It is, and quite a good shot, too, in my professional opinion."

  
Jamie glowed under Harry's praise. They finished their snack before standing, and taking another turn around the park.

  
"Harry, are we friends?"

  
"Yeah, kid," Harry said after a moment's hesitation and looking at Jamie fondly, "I suppose we are."

  
"Good."

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
Jamie was a very curious child. Harry admired his fierce independence, and he'd by lying if he said that Jamie didn't remind him very much of himself at that age. He rarely talked about his foster family, and aside from a few trips outside the boundaries of Russell Square Gardens to grab a bite to eat, the entirety of their interactions took place inside the confines of the park. Harry had stopped asking about why the boy wasn't in school, and as the school year was now over it didn't much matter. He'd contemplated more than once following Jamie to wherever the child lived, but hesitated on getting too involved. As long as the boy continued to look cared for and showed no signs of neglect, Harry was content to trust the boy when he said that all was well at home.

  
Besides, what did Harry know of proper parenting? Andromeda Tonks had taken Teddy and moved to Australia when Teddy was still in nappies. He saw his godson once a year - twice if he could manage - but that hardly counted. His initial upset at Remus's son living so far out of reach had only been compounded by the bombshell that Andromeda had dropped on him just days before their departure.

  
_"I mean no disrespect, but. . . are you mad?"_

_  
"She's my sister, and he's my nephew. They can't stay here - they aren't safe."_

_  
"Then let them go somewhere else," Harry pleaded with her, "you're not responsible for them and-"_

_  
"They're my family, something of which I have precious little left."_

_  
Harry felt chastened by her stern tone, and tried to understand her reasoning._

_  
"Why Australia?"_

_  
"I spent a few summers there as a child," she said, several stacks of books filing themselves into boxes with a flick of her wand. "It would be a wonderful place for Teddy to grow up."_

_  
"…but I'll never see him."_

_  
"Harry, you're welcome to visit at any time. I've no intention of trying to cut you out of Teddy's life." She stopped what she was doing and sat down beside him, taking his hands in hers. "Please understand, this has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the simple fact that I cannot bear to be on this island a minute longer. Despite my old age, I need to start fresh someplace else where everywhere I turn, I'm not assaulted by memories of the deaths of my husband and daughter, not to mention your godfather Sirius."_

_  
"I'm sorry…I didn't…"Harry tried to apologise._

_  
"I know, Harry."_

_  
"When do you leave?"_

_  
"Tuesday next. Our Portkey is for eleven o'clock, and I'd like it if you could see us off."_

_  
"You and the Malfoys, you mean?"_

_  
"Yes."_

_  
Harry hesitated._

_  
"I don't know if I can do that. I know that I owe Narcissa for what she did in the forest, but…"_

_  
"I'm not excusing the life that my sister chose to live, she has to pay her own price for her mistakes. But she is my sister." Andromeda stood and resumed her packing, her attentions now focused on several small knick-knacks in a corner cabinet. "As for her son, please consider for just a moment the influences that he had while growing up. Draco was being fed prejudice and hatred at his father's knee before he could barely speak. I'm not willing to write off the future of a young man for mistakes made when he was just a boy - and yes, Draco is still very much just a boy regardless of his age. He is young, like you, but few can truly understand the power that Lucius Malfoy wielded over his family. How was he to overcome that?"_

_  
"He had a choice," Harry bristled._

_  
"Yes, he did, but I would wager that his choices were as much driven by free will as yours were. Everyone was a pawn in Voldemort's and Dumbledore's game, Harry. Including you."_

  
Harry had put aside his distaste for the Malfoys that day and seen Andromeda and Teddy off at the International Portkey Hub four days later. Three months later, he had gone to visit as promised. He and the Malfoys had mostly steered clear of each other - which was easy enough since they'd made themselves scarce during the daytime. He'd had no idea where they were spending their time, nor did he care. He had just been glad to have the time alone with Teddy.

  
It wasn't until the second visit four months after that when Harry had found out what Draco was doing with most of his spare time - and it had sparked a disastrous incident that still haunted Harry's dreams on occasion; one which Harry vowed never to speak of to another living soul.

  
He'd gone snooping - unashamedly - through Draco's room one day while Teddy was napping and Andromeda was busy out in her garden. Along the back wall of Draco's modest bedroom in the four bedroom home, Harry had felt the faint hum of magic - a lot of it. After about half an hour of dismantling wards, he'd uncovered an small yet elaborate potions lab. All of the cauldrons but one were lifeless. Tiny plumes of dark purple smoke had been emanating from the single cauldron set atop blue flames, with a sickly sweet smell having filled the room once the wards were gone. Harry had approached the cauldron to look inside, but he hadn't recognized the potion within. Just as he had been reaching for the glass stirring rod on the table to investigate further, he'd heard the door open behind him.

  
_"What the hell are you doing in here, Potter?" Malfoy practically spat out as he rushed across the room to where Harry stood._

_  
"I should be asking you that," Harry turned on him, pointing the stirring rod at him accusingly._

_  
"It's my room."_

_  
"And you had a pretty big secret hiding inside, didn't you?"_

_  
Harry had never seen Malfoy look at him with such rage - not even after Lucius had been imprisoned after the Department of Mysteries incident._

_  
"That's none of your business."_

_  
"My godson lives under this roof," Harry shouted at him, "it's very much my business!"_

_  
Harry turned back to the cauldron, determined to find out what Malfoy was brewing. Malfoy grabbed his arm to pull Harry away from the table, but Harry pushed back and, from the force of it, lost his balance just enough that when he over-corrected, his instinct was to grab hold of the table and right himself._

_  
" Potter- no!" Malfoy had shouted, reaching out for Harry to pull him away from the table._

  
It had been too late - the table and the cauldron on top of it came tumbling down, followed by a sizeable small explosion once the first drop of volatile liquid inside the cauldron touched the floor. Nearly the entire room had been covered in the shimmery, puce-coloured potion - including Harry and Malfoy. The liquid had burned through Harry's skin, sinking in fast and leaving dark red splotches where it had landed before his skin and clothes eventually absorbed it altogether. The burning feeling had soon faded, Harry no longer feeling like his skin was on fire, and instead started to tingle. . .and then something unexpected and not at all welcome had started to happen.

  
_"What the fuck is this, Malfoy?" Harry gasped, an overwhelming hunger of a carnal nature consuming him._

_  
"You don't want to know - just get out," Malfoy said loudly, visibly panicked._

_  
"Malfoy-"_

_  
"Get out, Potter! Now!" Malfoy was struggling to open the door, cursing when the knob wouldn't turn fully._

_  
"I…oh God…Malfoy what is this?" Harry felt his feet moving, unable to stop himself from advancing on Malfoy where he stood. He had to touch him - he had to touch Malfoy or surely he'd die from the want of it._

_  
"JUST GO!" Malfoy was on the verge of screaming now as he watched Harry approach, a wild and unnatural gleam in his eyes._

_  
"Tell me what it is!" Harry begged just as he reached up and grabbed Draco's robe, pulling the other boy toward him._

_  
"It should be obvious by now!"_

_  
Harry was now nose-to-nose with Malfoy, who was shaking in his arms, and Harry still had the uncontrollable urge to touch and grab and. . ._

_  
"Don't- Potter, no!"_

  
In the next breath, Harry had been kissing Malfoy like his life depended on it. He hadn't been able to stop himself; couldn't rein in the uncontrollable need to taste every inch of the person he despised most in the world in that moment.

  
Harry had assumed that Malfoy had been similarly affected, seeing as how he was answering Harry lick for lick, bite for bite. Harry had never felt such an insatiable, _animalistic_ urge to possess another. It wasn't his first sexual experience with another man, but it was the first time his own body had ever reacted in such a way - all of which Harry chalked up to the potion now running through his veins.

  
_"Lust potion," Draco choked out between gasps as Harry dropped to his knees, unable to take his eyes off the other man as he roughly pulled Malfoy's cock from the confines of his trousers and nearly swallowed it whole._

_  
"I hate you," Harry practically spat after sliding Draco's dick from between his kiss-swollen lips, a thin trail of saliva falling from the tip and landing on Malfoy's polished shoes before Harry opened his mouth for more._

  
Minutes later, Harry'd had Malfoy's legs clinging to his waist, his pale bony knees digging into Harry's sides as the other man's back was pressed into the closed door while Harry repeatedly slammed into him. He'd been painfully hard, but relief seeped through him with every pummel of Malfoy's hastily prepared hole.

  
Malfoy hadn't been complaining, though - quite the opposite. Harry had been in turns disgusted and enthralled with every appreciative cry and grunt and pleas for more that had fallen from Malfoy's red and swollen mouth. Harry had never hated himself more than in that moment, but it had felt so _fucking_ good. Narcissa and Andromeda and the ghosts of his dead parents could have entered the room in that moment and Harry wouldn't have cared - he'd needed to come oh so desperately, and so, apparently, had Draco.

  
When it had been over, and they both sat in a heap against the door - Harry with his trousers still undone, and Malfoy's pants in a heap on the floor, both of them sticky and sweaty with come and perspiration from the brutal coupling.

  
_"Christ, what the hell just happened?" Harry moaned, head in his hands but nonetheless relieved that the urge to possess the boy next to him had all but faded with the afterglow of his shockingly powerful orgasm._

_  
"If it isn't obvious, Potter, then you're as stupid as I always said you were."_

_  
Draco let his head fall back against the door, looking exhausted and. . . sad._

_  
"Get stuffed," Harry replied, but couldn't muster much malice behind it._

_  
"I rather think that I just did, thanks ever so much to you and your rampant ignorance."_

_  
Harry bristled at the implied accusation._

_  
"Oh, so this is my fault?"_

_  
"I'm not the one messing about with potions that I can't identify!" Draco said, standing up suddenly and staring down at him._

_  
"You shouldn't be brewing that shit in this house where my godson lives!" Harry answered in kind, standing up and refusing to be looked down on by Malfoy. "And what the hell do you need to brew lust potions for anyway? That hard up for it that you resort to drugging people into having sex with you?"_

_  
Draco turned away from him, and started casting various cleaning spells to vanquish the mess._

_  
"Well?" Harry asked him again._

_  
Draco's answer was so quiet that Harry had to strain to hear him._

_  
"I need the money, all right?"_

_  
Harry assumed the worst._

_  
"Is this illegal, because if so-"_

_  
"Oh don't go getting your knickers all in a twist, Golden Boy," Malfoy turned on him, wand at the ready. "It's perfectly legal. My aunt-"_

_  
"What about her?"Harry challenged, daring Malfoy to speak a word against Andromeda._

_  
"We're not exactly living in luxury," Draco gestured to their surroundings before turning his back on Harry again. "I'm just trying to. . . to do my part."_

_  
"Fine," Harry said through clenched teeth, wanting nothing more than to get out of Malfoy's room and forget that this entire day had ever happened._

_  
Malfoy turned around again to face him. "I'm not exactly jumping for joy over the recent turn of events either, Boy Who Molests."_

_  
"This did not happen. Do you understand?" Harry said, closing the distance between them and giving Malfoy a threatening glare. "Don't you ever tell a soul about this."_

_  
"Your outrage over having the orgasm of your life has been duly noted."_

_  
"I mean it, Malfoy. You breathe a word of it and I'll-"_

_  
"You'll what?" Malfoy laughed derisively. "And what makes you think that I'm especially eager to admit to having shagged you, potion-induced lust or no?"_

_  
"Swear to it," Harry demanded._

_  
"I swear."_

  
Malfoy had been true to his word, and they'd never spoken about the incident with anyone - not even with each other in the week remaining of Harry's visit. For the most part, they had avoided each other after that day, but when they were in the same room together, the tension between them was electric. It was enough to cause Andromeda to question Harry about it the night before he left, but Harry had brushed off her questions easily enough. Had it not been for Teddy, Harry would have left Australia the day of the accident, and never gone back.

  
Five months after that, Harry got a letter from her informing him that Narcissa and Draco had moved out in the middle of the night without so much as a note telling her where they'd gone, and Harry had put the Malfoys out of his mind. . . for the most part.

  
Harry's sole remaining problem where Malfoy was concerned wouldn't make itself known until later when, during his relationship with Stuart, Harry would have flashes of the look on Malfoy's face as Harry had mercilessly fucked him while he was likewise occupied with Stuart.

  
Harry would have never acknowledged it at the time, but he could now admit to himself just how gorgeous Malfoy had looked in that moment - skin flushed and glowing from perspiration, his normally perfect hair a tousled touchable mess, and the way his eyes had clenched shut in pleasure when he came.

  
**\\\\\ _July_ ///**

  
"Can I come to your house?"

  
"Jamie, we've talked about this. . ."

  
"I could sit with Maisy while you work," the boy offered as Harry cleaned his camera lens.

  
"I don't think that's a good idea, Jamie."

  
"But why not?"

  
"Because."

  
They sat side by side on a bench near the water fountain feature, and Jamie had been looking at it longingly for the better part of an hour now. Harry would have had no problem letting the child get soaking wet - he contemplated it himself on this especially warm day - but as he couldn't exactly whip out his wand and cast drying charms when they were through, Harry refrained from encouraging him.

  
"They won't mind, honest," Jamie said pleadingly, speaking of his foster family.

  
"If you introduce me to them and they say it's all right, then yes, you can come over."

  
Jamie's shoulders fell, defeated. While Harry hadn't pressed about meeting the caretakers of this young boy who had taken a shine to him nearly two months earlier, he was reluctant to get too close. If he were honest, Harry would have no problem admitting that he, too, had become rather endeared to the boy in return. But Harry wasn't naïve. He knew what some people might assume; a young boy and an older man who had no other connection than a chance meeting in a park one day - it could easily spell the sort of trouble for which Harry didn't want to go near with a hundred foot pole. Whenever Jamie would broach the topic of seeing where Harry lived, Harry always responded with the same answer.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
It was just over two weeks until his birthday, the same day that the gallery show had been scheduled, and Harry was spending some long overdue time in the darkroom he'd installed at Grimmauld Place. He'd been spending an inordinate amount of time at Russell Square Gardens of late, meeting up with Jamie several times a week, and had neglected to spend as much time as he should have on choosing his pieces for the show. As he was hanging up several photos to dry, he saw the flashing red light that he'd installed and meant that someone was at the front door. Harry dried off his hands and exited the black revolving door, and headed to the main hallway of the house.

  
Harry opened his door and found Jamie standing there, his blue eyes red-rimmed and swollen behind his glasses, and fresh tear tracks down his cheeks.

  
"Jamie, how did you- what's wrong?" Harry asked, worry crawling up his spine at the boy's distress.

  
Harry crossed the threshold and walked out onto the landing with Jamie, kneeling down touching his arm. The boy was out of breath, as though he'd run a great distance to reach Harry's house, and he couldn't stop crying.

  
"Hey, it's okay, Jamie - just tell me what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Harry gave a cursory once-over to the boy's bare arms and legs, looking for bruises or cuts, but he seemed physically unhurt.

  
"My dad- he-" Jamie tried to speak, taking in great gulps of air as he sobbed in front of Harry.

  
Harry had never heard Jamie refer to his foster father as 'dad' before. He pulled the rucksack off of Jamie's shoulder and set it on the ground, rubbing the child's arms soothingly and trying to calm him enough that he could tell Harry what had upset him so terribly.

  
"Did he hurt you, Jamie?" Harry asked him gently, "You can tell me."

  
"No, he- he's going to- oh, Harry!" the boy broke down, throwing himself at Harry and clinging to him in a tight embrace. Harry could feel the wet heat from Jamie's tearstained cheeks against the side of his neck, and he wrapped his arms around him.

  
"Harry, you _have_ to help him, you _have to_ ," the boy said between sobs.

  
"I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong, Jamie," Harry answered, trying to sound calm despite his growing fear that something very, very bad had happened.

  
"You know my dad, Harry, and I know you hate him but you _have_ to help him or he's going to die!"

  
Harry stood, a chill forming in the pit of his stomach.

  
"Come on, let's go inside so we can talk."

  
Harry opened the door and led Jamie inside after picking up the boy's rucksack. He took the boy downstairs and into the kitchen, where he pulled out a chair and gestured for Jamie to sit while he sorted out some hot chocolate and what remained of his chocolate biscuits.

  
He handed Jamie a wet flannel, directing him to wipe his face and shushing the boy's protests that they had to leave immediately so that Harry could save his dad.

  
"Jamie, you're not making any sense," Harry said as he sat down across from him. "How did you even find me here?"

  
"I followed you."

  
Harry frowned, but held back the gentle rebuke on his tongue.

  
"What did you mean when you said that I know your dad?"

  
"You went to school with him, you. . ."

  
Harry's blood went cold at the mention of Hogwarts.

  
"Jamie-"

  
"I'm not- my name's not really Jamie."

  
Harry felt frozen to the chair. In the far reaches of his mind, puzzle pieces were frantically trying to fit together and failing.

  
"I mean it is, but…my real name's Scorpius. My middle name's James, so my dad calls me Jamie."

  
A sick feeling started to pool in the pit of Harry's stomach, and he felt his knees weaken - had he been standing, his legs might have gone out from under him. He sat back, swallowing around the lump in this throat and asked Jamie what he was sure he already knew the answer to.

  
"Who is your dad, Jamie?"

  
The boy swallowed hard before answering.

  
"Draco Malfoy. My dad's Draco and I'm Scorpius Malfoy and you're my other dad and you have to save him."

  
Harry's mouth fell open in shock, any words he might have said frozen in his throat as he stared across the table.

  
Jamie stood suddenly and fetched his rucksack from where Harry had dropped it near the kitchen door, then walking back to the table and pouring its contents onto the surface. Several small rocks of various colours, a bottle of water, wizard and Muggle money, a tattered copy of _London A-Z_ , the photograph that he'd taken with Harry months ago. . . and a large bundle of letters tied up with string fell out. It was the bundle that Jamie reached for, and handed them to Harry.

  
"It's in there," he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve as another tear made its way down his cheek. "You're my other dad."

  
"Jamie, I- that's not possible."

  
Harry's mouth felt full of sawdust - not only was the child across from him who he had come to care for the son of Draco Malfoy, but the boy also believed that Harry was also his dad.

  
"It is, because you _are_ ," Jamie said emphatically, practically shoving the letters into Harry's lap.

  
"Regardless of what these letters might say-" Harry tried to reason with him before being interrupted again.

  
"Just _read them_!" Jamie shouted at him. It was the first time Harry had ever heard the boy raise his voice.

  
Harry picked up the stack. On the topmost letter, he could see his name written across the front in neat, narrow handwriting. Harry pulled the edge of the string to untie the knot, his hands shaking slightly. There must have been thirty, maybe forty, letters in all - every single one of them addressed to him.

  
"I found them in the attic at home. They were inside an old trunk of my dad's," Jamie said softly.

  
Harry took the letter on top of the pile and examined it. The seal had been broken, presumably by Jamie, and it bore the mark of the Malfoy family crest. It was an image that Harry would never forget, the ivy and serpent pattern having been indelibly burned into his memory after seeing it in the Malfoy Manor dungeon as he'd been forced to listen to Hermione scream in agony in the room above.

  
"They make more sense if you start from the beginning. I put them all in order."

  
Harry was skeptical, but tried to mask his disbelief under Jamie's scrutiny. Harry had no doubt that Jamie was a Malfoy - now that his parentage had been revealed, Harry wondered how he hadn't seen Jamie's resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy before today. But whatever it was in the letters that had led the boy to believe that Harry had anything to do with his being here was surely misinterpreted. Nevermind the fact that men could not bear children - Harry could not believe that he would have a child in this world and not know about it. Not even Malfoy could have been so cruel as to keep that knowledge from him.

  
"Why didn't you tell me who your father was, Jamie?" Harry whispered, putting the envelope down.

  
"I. . . I almost did, but then I . . . I lost my nerve," Jamie admitted, biting his bottom lip.

  
"When did you- know?"

  
Harry placed his hands atop Jamie's and squeezing gently.

  
"I found the letters in February after dad went to hospital," he said through his tears, "that's why I came to find you."

  
"You're really Draco's son," Harry said, more a statement than a question as he continued to try and wrap his mind around it.

  
"I'm _your_ son, too."

  
"Jamie, you know that's not possible," Harry said warily while trying not to upset the boy further.

  
"Fine, don't believe me," Jamie was visibly hurt by Harry's denial and pulled his hands out from under Harry's and tucked them under the table, "but that doesn't mean that you can't help my dad anyway."

  
"What happened to him?"

  
"He's a curse breaker for the goblins and he got in the way of something bad that's hurting his heart."

  
"You mean at Gringotts?" Harry clarified, giving thought to Bill Weasley who he hadn't corresponded with in several months.

  
"What makes you think that I can do anything to help him? I'm not a Healer," Harry answered as kindly as he could.

  
"You're Harry Potter," Jamie said as though it should have been the obvious answer. "You came back from the dead twice, so you can figure out a way to make sure that my dad doesn't die," he finished weakly, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

  
"If I could, I would." Harry was surprised to find that he genuinely meant it. Regardless of the past animosity between himself and Malfoy, he was still Jamie's father and he didn't wish the death of a parent on a boy that he'd grown to care about over the past couple of months.

  
"You just don't want to," Jamie said as his face crumpled and he began to cry again.

  
"Jamie, please believe me, if I could do anything to help Mal- your dad, I would," Harry answered, standing and going to the other side of the table to kneel in front of the boy and pulling him into a hug.

  
"Then come with me, " Jamie begged, "please, Harry."

  
Harry sighed. What else was he to do?

  
**\\\\\\***///**

 

"Scorpius, there you are, I wondered where you'd- " Narcissa Malfoy started, rising from the high-backed chair next to her son's hospital bed. "-Mr Potter?" 

  
Harry nodded to acknowledge her as he stood at the entrance to Draco's room on the Janus Thickey ward at St Mungo's Hospital. He had stayed a few steps behind Jamie as they made his way to Malfoy's room, keeping his head down so as to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He'd been out of the Wizarding World for so long, and knew that his reappearance in a place as public as St Mungo's was sure to cause a stir. As Jamie had barreled into his father's room and toward his grandmother, Harry had paused at the threshold, taking it all in.

  
Narcissa hadn't noticed him until Jamie looked over in his direction.

  
"Hello Mrs Malfoy."

  
"What are you doing here?" she said curtly, pulling Jamie close by her side. Her pale, ice blue robes were a sharp contrast to Jamie's red shirt and brown trousers. Harry noticed that the decade since he'd last seen Narcissa Malfoy had been kind to her. She'd barely aged a day. She looked at Harry with unveiled suspicion, her mouth a thin, tight line as she surely refrained from saying many an unkind word to Harry's unexpected presence in front of her grandson.

  
"I brought him, Nana," Jamie interjected.

  
"I see."

  
Harry looked over to where Draco Malfoy lay, seemingly unconscious, in the hospital bed. His light blond hair looked freshly combed, likely his mother's doing, and there was little colour in his pale face. At first glance, he hadn't changed much since Harry had last laid eyes on the other man, but there was a certain softness to Malfoy's face as he slept.

  
"Mrs Malfoy, can we talk in private for a moment?" Harry asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible despite feeling anything but.

  
Regardless of the fact that she had lied for Harry in front of Voldemort, Harry hadn't forgotten why she had done so, and held no delusions that it had anything at all to do with the outcome of the war.

  
She looked down at Jamie, then back at Harry with narrowed eyes.

  
"Scorpius, stay here."

  
Narcissa approached him, and before Harry shut the door to Draco's room, he heard Jamie whisper loudly to his father, "Don't worry, dad, you're saved now."

  
"I only have one question for you, Mr Potter - why are you here?"

  
"Wasn't it _I_ who asked to speak to _you_ , and not the other way around?"

  
"You haven't any place here," she said coldly, her lips thin. "Go home to your wife."

  
"I would if I had one."

  
Narcissa seemed surprised by that fact, although Harry had no idea why she should have been.

  
"Scorpius should not have sought you out."

  
"Well, _Jamie_ did seek me out, and I'm here at his request."

  
They stood across from one another in the near-deserted hospital hallway, staring at each other in challenge.

  
"I've no idea how he found you, but you've no obligation to stay here. Scorpius and I are handling things well enough on our own."

  
"He gave me a stack of letters with my name on them."

  
Narcissa paled at the revelation. It was clear to Harry that she knew exactly which letters he referred to.

  
"And you've read them?" she asked, the colour having returned to her cheeks.

  
"No, I haven't. Jamie only just gave them to me when he was begging me to come here and save Ma- Draco's life. He said that Draco's dying - is that true?"

  
"It was until this morning," she replied, clutching the delicate string of pearls along her neck and looking at the door to Draco's room. "Scorpius must have overheard the Healer and me talking about Draco's case and misinterpreted what was said." She met Harry's gaze again before turning and placing her hand on the door, "If you'll excuse me, I need to speak with my grandson."

  
Before Harry could ask her to clarify, she had opened the door and went inside where she knelt down in front of Jamie, cupping his face in her hands.

  
"Scorpius, your father is going to be all right."

  
The boy's face lit up, and he looked at Harry with a bright smile and new, happier tears in his eyes. He ran to Harry's side and clung to him, thanking him over and over for agreeing to help his dad. Harry didn't know what to say, and he looked to Narcissa with a silent plea to intervene.

  
"Mr Potter had nothing to do with it, Scorpius." Narcissa walked toward them and touched her grandson gently on the shoulder, and he turned to look up at her, his glasses sitting crookedly on his face. "The Healer working your father's case discovered the final hidden layer of the curse and was able to counter it," she explained, straightening his glasses. "He's going to be fine."

  
"No, Nana, I asked Harry to come and save him and now he will," Jamie said to her, his arms still wrapped tightly around Harry's waist.

  
Harry looked down at him and smoothed Jamie's hair down, noticing for the first time just how much he resembled the woman next to them. He had her fine, delicately rounded bone structure and full lips, but the eyes . . . if it weren't for the fact that they were blue instead of grey, they'd be an exact match for Draco's, as was the short, narrow nose. Harry saw nothing of himself in the boy, unless you counted the perpetually messy hair, which Harry did not.

  
He didn't believe that he was Jamie's father as the boy had told him, but he couldn't help looking for signs of it regardless. He wouldn't have minded, really - having Jamie for a son. But the possibility was too preposterous to entertain.

  
"Your grandmother is telling the truth, Jamie," Harry said softly, "The Healers are already helping him."

  
"Were you listening to my conversation with Healer McClintock this morning, Scorpius?"

  
The boy nodded his head guiltily at his grandmother's question.

  
"Then you must not have been listening very carefully. Had he not discovered the specific curse embedded in your father's heart before now, then yes, he most likely would have died." Jamie breathed in audibly at the frightening word, and Narcissa reached out and caressed his cheek, "but there is nothing to fear anymore. The counter curse has been administered, and he will awaken in a matter of days."

  
Jamie removed his glasses and wiped his face on his sleeve. Harry took the glasses from his hand.

  
"Dad's all right?"

  
"Yes."

  
The boy ran over to where his father lay in the bed and climbed up onto the side, lying next to him and weeping openly with his face buried in Draco's neck, hands clutching the unconscious man's shoulders. Harry felt his own eyes start to burn as he watched the scene in front of him; Jamie's already raw emotions unable to contain themselves any longer as he clung to his dad.

  
Narcissa went to him and rubbed Jamie's back soothingly, whispering platitudes that Harry could barely hear.

  
Looking over at the small family, their trauma mostly at an end now that Draco was going to live, Harry felt distinctly out of place. Without being noticed, he slipped out of the room and into the hallway where he proceeded to the nearest Floo, intent on bringing his brief re-entry into the Wizarding World to an end.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
"I have a _son_ ," Harry said to himself alone in the privacy of his room, his bed covered in a pile of opened letters, scattered haphazardly across its surface.

  
Harry had spent the past four days reading letter after letter - many of them more than once - and trying to piece together exactly how it was that he had a son and never knew. After he'd read everything that Draco had written, there was little doubt left in his mind that Jamie was his.

  
"I'm a father," he said, running his hand down his face, " _Christ almighty_."

  
Harry reached for the letter that came first chronologically. Those first several letters were exactly that -letters written yet never sent. They were full of bitterness and anger, the author's despair spilling out of every word onto its pages, comprised mostly of variations of _'Potter, you unbelievable prick, I'm up the duff with your demon spawn so get your arse back here and do something.'_

  
After the fifth letter, though, they had started to read more like something that one would find in a journal or diary. Where they still maintained their curt, clipped tone - and more than a few expletives directed at Harry - they had begun to transform into something much more open, even vulnerable at times. Harry had started to feel uncomfortable reading them as he got deeper and deeper into the stack, but couldn't stop reading them nonetheless. He had a hard time feeling any genuine regret over the things he'd learned about Draco through those pages.

  
Those later letters had revealed exactly how Draco had become pregnant in the first place - besides the obvious, of course, although Harry wouldn't have listed 'furious bout of angry wall sex' as his first choice of ideal circumstances in which to conceive a child. The fact that Draco even had the ability to conceive, all maleness aside, had been an underhanded gift bestowed on him by his aunt Bellatrix during the year in which Voldemort occupied Malfoy Manor and had Lucius Malfoy - may he rot in hell - asking how high when The Noseless One said jump. She had found out about Draco's predilection for boys after he'd overreacted to Blaise Zabini's life being threatened by one of the Carrows, and had mocked Draco mercilessly, constantly threatening to tell his parents. According to the letters, Draco had never taken the curse seriously, assuming it to be just another form of mental cruelty on the part of his sociopathic aunt.

  
A few weeks after Harry the incident in which he had uncovered Draco's part-time hobby of selling lust potions to unsavoury shopkeepers in the Wizarding district of Brisbane, Draco had become violently ill. After nearly two weeks of tests, the Healers had been gobsmacked to deliver the news that Draco was actually 'with child.' They had kept it a secret even from Andromeda, and moved out of her home when Draco could no longer hide his burgeoning waistline. It was at that point that the letters had stopped.

  
As Harry began to re-read the letter that detailed the first time that Draco had felt the baby moving inside him, he heard a knock at the door. Narcissa Malfoy was the last person he'd expected to see on his front step, nor did it didn't surprise him. Jamie was beside her, looking up at Harry with a hopeful expression.

  
Harry felt his heart flip at the sight.

  
"My dad's awake," the boy said happily, "Can I come in and see Maisy?"

  
More than a bit dumbfounded by the odd non sequitur, Harry opened the door fully and gestured them both inside.

  
As Jamie passed by him, Harry was overcome with a new, unidentifiable emotion. He stopped the boy's progress with a hand on his shoulder, and knelt down in front of him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He felt Jamie's arms around his shoulders returning the hug, and Harry found it difficult to breathe.

  
"Hi," Harry finally choked out, his throat feeling constricted. He thought his heart might burst, and he was reluctant to let the boy - _his son_ \- go. "I missed you."

  
"I missed you, too, Harry," Jamie answered, laying his head on Harry's shoulder and content to stay there in the embrace for as long as Harry wished. Harry wanted to laugh when Jamie patted his back encouragingly and whispered, "Told you so."

  
Harry had forgotten for a moment that they weren't alone as Narcissa cleared her throat delicately to remind them of her presence. He'd been too immersed in the overwhelming feelings of holding his son in his arms - it wasn't the first time, but it may as well have been.

  
"I wish to speak with you, Mr Potter," she said primly.

  
"I can put the kettle on if you like," Harry offered warily, his desire to spend more time with Jamie overcoming his distaste at having Narcissa with them.

  
Harry knew that they were a package deal - Draco included - whether he liked it or not. The odd part came with the realisation that it was Narcissa - not her son - who rankled Harry's ire, though it should be Draco bearing the brunt of Harry's anger and hurt over missing out on the first ten years of his son's life.

  
Narcissa nodded as Harry motioned her toward the kitchen.

  
"I'm sure that you remember the way," he said, realising how it must have sounded as soon as the words left his mouth.

  
"I do, despite the fact that the house is unrecognizable from the last time that I walked these halls."

  
"Yeah, well, the torturous dungeon look wasn't really my style," Harry said sarcastically.

  
"And French Country is?" Narcissa asked, "How very interesting."

  
"Nana, look! This is Maisy," Jamie said excitedly as he knelt down to pet the spaniel. "Isn't she pretty?"

  
"Yes, she is a very fine breed, I'm sure," Narcissa responded, not unkindly.

  
"Jamie, why don't you take Maisy out to the back garden and see what kind of trouble you two can get in, hmm?" Harry said with a wink and touching his cheek, unable to resist touching him.

  
Looking at the boy's relaxed and happy face, there was a constant flutter in Harry's heart in a place he hadn't known existed, and he realised just how much he had missed Jamie over the past several days. He'd been so consumed with Draco's letters, his mind going in every possible direction at breakneck speed as the contents were revealed, that he hadn't taken time to just sit and take in what they all meant.

  
He was a _father_. He had a _son_. It was a breathtaking revelation that he couldn't foresee ever getting used to.

  
They both watched Jamie as he led Maisy outdoors from the rear door of the kitchen, and when he finally shut the door behind him, Narcissa sat down at the large table and folded her hands primly in front of her.

  
"You understand it now, do you not, Mr Potter?"

  
"Understand what, exactly?" he asked, the cold tone of superiority in her voice igniting the slow-burning flame of anger that seemed to appear whenever he was around her. "That I've had a child these past ten years and not known about it?" he challenged her.

  
"My son had his reasons, most of which you should be privy to by now if you've truly taken the time to read the letters that my grandson left for you."

  
Harry slammed the kettle on the tabletop as he looked down at her.

  
"There is no reason in the world that could possibly justify your son keeping this from me."

  
She said nothing, but the look on her face as she smoothed the fabric of her dress said enough - she was, and would always be, on Draco's side in this matter. Harry had no doubt that the animosity he felt toward her was entirely mutual.

  
"And what are you to do about this newfound knowledge you've acquired?"

  
"Are you asking if I'm going to try and take him from Draco?"

  
Her silence was confirmation that he'd voiced her greatest fear. He waited several long moments before answering - not because he needed to ponder on it, but because he enjoyed watching her squirm.

  
"No, I'm not."

  
Narcissa nodded, visibly relieved, but her eyes bore into him as if trying to discern any possible duplicity in his answer.

  
"He seems well taken care of," Harry said honestly, "despite the fact that he was left to wander the streets of London on his own at the age of ten," he added pointedly.

  
Narcissa bristled at the unspoken accusation.

  
"That was entirely the boy's own doing. He has a rebellious streak in him - perhaps you yourself can recognize that particular character trait, Mr Potter."

  
"All kids are rebellious, and you can drop the 'Mr Potter' crap. Apparently I fathered your grandson, I think that puts us on a less formal basis, don't you?"

  
"That you are responsible purely on a biological level in no way infers that you've been a father to him."

  
"And whose fault is that?" he asked through clenched teeth.

  
"Again, Draco had his reasons."

  
"And that's for me and Draco to hash out - it's no business of yours."

  
Narcissa glared at him from where she sat.

  
"My son nearly died, Mr Potter," she said vehemently as she stood, "everything concerning my son is most assuredly my business."

  
"Is that why you're here? To make sure that I don't make some play for custody?" he shot back at her, raising his voice. "Scared that I'll drag Draco through the courts and hide Jamie away from his father so that neither of you will ever see him again? It wouldn't be entirely unjustified if I did, would it?" Harry dared her to deny it, trying to dampen his anger for the sake of the boy outside.

  
" _Scorpius_ is not your son in any way that matters."

  
"I beg to differ," Harry said incredulously, hardly believing the unmitigated gall of Narcissa Malfoy trying to deny him his claim on Jamie.

  
"Beg all you like, it doesn't change anything. Draco does not yet know what his son has done, but when he learns of it, he'll-"

  
"He'll what? Jamie didn't do anything wrong, he was a scared little boy who-" Harry started, prepared to threaten her and Draco if either of them lay a hand on his son in punishment.

  
"Who disobeyed me on countless occasions by willfully manipulating our house elf into keeping his journeys into London a secret." She practically hissed, so obvious was her disgust at even having to have this conversation with Harry. "I would have never allowed such a thing; he's only ten years old."

  
Harry couldn’t bear another moment alone with her.

  
"Please leave," he said curtly. "I'd like some time alone with Jamie."

  
"There isn't time. Draco is leaving hospital later today. This was merely a detour along the way - clearly a wasted one - before I planned to take Scorpius out for tea."

  
"I'll bring him round later, then."

  
"Are you suggesting that I leave Scorpius here with you alone?" she asked as though Harry had proposed a trip to the moon.

  
"No, I'm _telling_ you that you are." She opened her mouth to speak, but Harry continued. "I don't want this to get ugly, but I've no problem asserting my rights as Jamie's other parent. I'm fairly sure that even in the Wizarding World, a parent's rights trump the grandparent."

  
Narcissa blanched at the thinly veiled threat, and then turned on her heel to open the rear door leading to the garden where her grandson was playing with Maisy.

  
"Scorpius, come inside please," she said, and the boy came running, out of breath from his exertions.

  
Narcissa gave Harry a dark look before turning back to her grandson.

  
"You are to stay with Mr Potter while I go home and ready things for your father to come home. I'll send Effie for you later."

  
Jamie looked hopefully at Harry.

  
"I will take him home," Harry countered.

  
"Really, Nana?"

  
"Yeah, Jamie, you can stay. Let's show your grandmother out," Harry said pointedly, "and then you can help me make lunch, okay?"

  
Jamie's big, bright smile made everything else in Harry's life - even the distasteful presence of Narcissa Malfoy in his kitchen - seem inconsequential.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
An impressive eagle owl had arrived later that afternoon informing Harry that Draco's discharge from St Mungo's had been delayed an extra day due to some lingering irregularities in his heartbeat, and advising him that Harry was expected to bring Jamie home within the hour.

  
Taking great umbrage at her presumption that she could order Harry around like one of her house elves, Harry had sent back a reply that Jamie would instead be staying with him overnight since he would not be missed by Draco at home, and that _he_ expected their house elf to arrive within the hour with an overnight bag for Jamie.

  
After three hours of waiting, and fully prepared to wait three hours more if Narcissa wished to play this particular game, the Malfoy house elf had popped into existence directly next to where Jamie stood in Harry's darkroom, overnight bag and all.

  
He smiled inwardly and put a point in his column.

  
Harry had just finished tucking Jamie into bed for the night when he heard the telephone in his room ringing.

  
"Harry, can you leave the door open?" Jamie asked.

  
"Sure," Harry answered, brushing the hair from his son's forehead and removing his glasses to place on the bedside table. "Remember, I'm right across the hall, so if you get scared or anything, just come on in."

  
"I won't get scared," Jamie replied confidently, but Harry knew how it felt to be in a strange place overnight for the first time.

  
Harry tucked in the covers around him one last time, and as he turned to leave, Jamie grabbed onto his hand.

  
"Harry?"

  
"Yeah?"

  
"Thanks for letting me stay tonight."

  
Jamie's hands appeared out from the edge of the duvet, fingering the silk cord around the border.

  
"You're welcome," Harry said, bending to kiss his forehead.

  
He started to leave again when Jamie called out once more.

  
"Harry?"

  
"Yeah?"

  
"I'm glad that you're my other dad."

  
Harry felt a lump in his throat as he turned out the light, the constellations that he'd charmed onto the ceiling earlier that evening providing a soft, unobtrusive glow - just enough to keep the room from being too dark.

  
"Me, too, kid. Me, too."

  
Harry went to his room across the hall and managed to pick up the phone before it went to voicemail. It was Stuart.

  
"Forget anything, Harry?"

  
"Um. . ."

  
"You were supposed to meet me for dinner."

  
" _Shit_. I'm sorry, I completely forgot."

  
"No problem, I know you're busy with the upcoming show."

  
Harry didn't dare mention that he hadn't given one thought to the gallery show in the past several days, either, or the reason why.

  
"You're still coming, aren't you?" Harry asked, hoping he sounded sufficiently apologetic.

  
"Wouldn't miss it. Seven-thirty, yeah?"

  
"Right, two weeks from tomorrow."

  
"So whose idea was it to schedule the show on your birthday?" Stuart laughed.

  
"Stephanie's, and if I catch one whiff of a cake while I'm there, I'm turning right around and leaving."

  
Stuart laughed again, and they spoke a few minutes more before Harry hung up.

  
Harry sat down on his bed, running his hand through his hair. He had no idea how he was going to tell his two closest friends about Jamie. They'd be thrilled for him, he was sure, but it was more the details about how Jamie came about that caused the problem. Harry hated lying to them, and while he'd had to do so before - where he came from, how he knew the random people on the street who sometimes waved to him - it had never been anything so involved and complicated. He never used magic around them, so there was never any need to lie about that - Harry had never considered a lie of omission a genuine lie. . . it was more like a tiny white lie. It was just one way he justified all the half-truths he lived with now.

  
He pondered spending an hour or so in his darkroom before bed, but an uncontrollable yawn put that idea on the back burner until the next day. He undressed down to his pants and crawled into bed, falling asleep quickly.

  
That night, he dreamt of purple smoke and flushed pale skin.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
"What's wrong? You don't like cereal?" Harry asked before taking another bite of toast.

  
Jamie shrugged, his bowl untouched.

  
"Worried about your dad?"

  
"Do you hate him?" Jamie asked quietly.

  
Harry swallowed and took a long sip of tea, formulating as diplomatic an answer as he could without lying to the boy.

  
"I did at one time, but I don't anymore."

  
"So you aren't cross with him? Nana said that dad was going to be cross with me for lying about where I was all those times I came to see you at the park, and if you're going to be cross with him then maybe I should go home by myself."

  
Harry cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, wanting to change the subject to something that would take away the look of trepidation on his face.

  
"How did you manage that, anyway? Going off by yourself like that," Harry said lightly.

  
"Nana didn't want me sitting in the hospital all day with nothing to do, so she said that I could go to the British Museum - the downstairs bit where the Muggles can't go with all the wizarding stuff - if I was with Effie." Jamie took a small bite of toast before continuing. "Nana can't order Effie around because she isn't her master, but I can so I made Effie stay at the museum while I went to the park instead and told Effie that she wasn't allowed to tell anyone."

  
"And I just happened to be there?"

  
"No, I knew that you would come. The paper said so."

  
"The paper?"

  
"The Daily Prophet," Jamie clarified. "They have a weekly column called _Potter Watch_ where people write in and list the places where they've seen you."

  
Harry dropped is toast, genuinely surprised.

  
"There's a column in the Prophet about me?"

  
"Yeah."

  
"I guess I figured that they'd lost interest by now," Harry said at Jamie's quizzical expression.

  
"You took a while to come, though. I'd been there eight times before you finally showed up."

  
"Sorry to have kept you waiting," Harry grinned.

  
"That's okay," Jamie shrugged.

  
"And you found out that I lived here from this _Potter Watch_ column?"

  
"Yeah, but I also followed you."

  
Harry looked at him askance, not sure if he should be impressed or slightly horrified at the boy's astute ingenuity.

  
"Aren't you full of surprises."

  
"I'm going to be in big trouble when dad finds out, aren't I?" Jamie asked, his brow crinkled in worry again and, Harry suspected, a little bit of fear at the prospect of being punished.

  
Harry reached over and placed his hand atop Jamie's, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  
"I'm sure we both can make Draco- your dad- see to reason."

  
Jamie gave him a hopeful smile.

  
"You should apologise to Effie, though, for making her lie for you."

  
"Yeah, I suppose that I should."

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
"Master Scorpius, Effie is so glad to be having you home!"

  
The diminutive house elf bowed so low that her nose was touching the ground.

  
"Is my dad home yet?"

  
"Master Draco is in his room resting, Master Scorpius."

  
"Brilliant," Jamie smiled, looking back at Harry.

  
"Effie, this is Harry Potter. He's my other dad."

  
"Harry Potter? In Master Malfoy's home?" the elf questioned, wringing her hands feverishly.

  
"It's okay, Effie," Jamie said apologetically. "You don’t have to lie about it." He shuffled his feet for a moment before continuing. "I'm sorry that I made you lie all those times before, too."

  
Effie froze in place, not knowing how to react to such a direct apology from her Master. Harry watched their interaction with amusement.

  
"Come on, Harry, let's go and see dad."

  
"I can hardly wait," Harry said under his breath, and at Jamie's questioning look, he just grinned encouragingly and beckoned for the boy to lead the way.

  
Harry looked around at his surroundings as Jamie led him down a short hallway and up a flight of stairs.

  
"How long have you lived here again?" Harry asked

  
"We moved back to England when I was three years old. I don't really remember Australia."

  
The formidable three-story home in Kensington couldn't have been more different from Harry's home at Grimmauld Place. Where Harry's was light and airy with lots of bleached woodwork and pale blues, the Malfoy home was full of rich, warm greys and browns, and dark cherry wood. It didn't feel stifling or foreboding at all, which Harry would have expected after seeing Malfoy Manor.

  
"I want. . ." Jamie started to say as they stopped in front of a mostly closed door that must have been Draco's room.

  
"Do you want to go in by yourself first?" Harry asked quietly.

  
"Yeah," the boy said, steeling his shoulders as if ready to face judge and jury.

  
"I'm sure it's going to be fine, Jamie. He's just come home from hospital, after all. I'm sure he's missed you very much."

  
They'd both received a letter from Narcissa earlier that morning letting them know that Draco had been apprised of the situation. Narcissa felt it best to tell her son while he was still in hospital after the irregular heartbeat had shown up on one of his final scans, afraid that the 'unwelcome development' would worsen his condition. She wanted Healers within arms-reach if Draco took a turn for the worst, and Harry had rolled his eyes at the absurd implication that Harry's mere presence would cause Draco to have some sort of heart attack.

  
Apparently Draco had already suspected that something was wrong not long after Jamie had first found the letters in February and had started acting strangely evasive when quizzed about his day. Draco hadn't been fallen into a coma until March, three weeks after his arrival at St Mungo's, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed with Jamie's ability to keep such a secret hidden for so long.

  
Harry hoped that the fact that the other man was on strict bed rest orders for the next two weeks would make things a bit easier. Harry needed some answers of his own, and Draco wouldn't be able to run away from them now. Narcissa hadn't bothered to tell him how Draco reacted to the news (obvious lack of a heart attack notwithstanding), but Harry had to trust that Draco would think of his- _their_ \- son's well-being and react accordingly when face to face with the boy.

  
Jamie opened the door to Draco's bedroom just enough to poke his head through.

  
"Dad?" he said softly.

  
Harry made sure to stay out of sight as Jamie shyly walked through the doorway into the room beyond.

  
"Come here, you," Harry heard a deep voice beckon, raspy from months of disuse.

  
Jamie disappeared from view, and Harry could tell that the boy had started crying at the sight of his father when he spoke his next words.

  
"I missed you so much, dad, and I'm so sorry for what I did," Jamie wept openly, "Please don't be cross with me."

  
Harry could hear Draco shushing him gently, unable to make out the words spoken between father and son. Several minutes passed before he heard the man speak again.

  
"You may as well show yourself, Potter."

  
Harry took a fortifying breath before stepping through the doorway.

  
"Hello, Draco."

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
The following two weeks had been exhausting for Harry. Not only did he have the gallery show in two days to make final preparations for, but now he had the Malfoys to contend with. Being with Jamie was effortless, and he took great pleasure in getting to know his son. He and Narcissa kept their distance, the mutual dislike a secret to no one - even Effie seemed to tense up whenever Harry and the Malfoy Matriarch were in the same room together.

  
Most of his energy was being expended on Draco. Harry's anger had mostly dissipated by the time he'd taken Jamie to see his father that first day Draco had come home from St Mungo's. The letters, which Harry had re-read countless times over by now, went a long way in turning Harry's initial hurt and betrayal into a begrudging understanding. . . and not a little bit of sadness over how much he'd missed out on.

  
Their first meeting that day had been fraught with tension. Harry had found that there was really only one question he'd wanted an answer to, and it was one that he'd likely never be satisfied with - why hadn't Draco come to him when he discovered that he was pregnant?

  
Harry had clued in from one of Draco's letters that a false story printed in the Prophet all those years ago about Harry supposedly having proposed to Ginny Weasley was the catalyst for Draco deciding not to tell him. It was three months after that fateful potions accident when Harry had been up in Hogsmeade visiting Ginny during her final year at Hogwarts. What had actually occurred was he and Ginny joking about the two of them running off to get married simply to stop her mother from constantly dropping anvil-like hints that she'd really like to see the two of them get back together. But that hadn't stopped an over-eager Prophet reporter who happened to be lunching nearby from jumping the proverbial gun and rushing off to give his paper some much-needed good publicity by breaking what they thought would be the biggest feel-good story in months - something unrelated to death and destruction that the Wizarding World could celebrate since the death of Voldemort.

  
Harry could still remember tossing the Prophet into the trash the next day when the story - and accompanying blurry picture of Harry and Ginny at Dumbledore's funeral from the year before - had appeared, and he'd rushed off to Floo Molly to make sure that she understood the story was wholly fabricated.

  
It might have been true had Harry not slept with Oliver Wood the night of Fred's funeral and clued Harry in on what exactly was lacking in his sexual experiences prior to that moment.

  
Most of the blanks about Jamie's birth and the years thereafter were easily filled in by both Draco and Jamie. Harry had spent every afternoon at the Malfoy home, and while Narcissa would gladly make herself scarce, Draco would sit propped up in his bed with Jamie usually sprawled out near his feet, and Harry in the chair opposite peppering them both with questions. The conversations weren't entirely friendly at first, but by the fourth day he and Draco had seemed to come to an understanding.

  
Draco understood that Harry had no designs on taking Jamie from him, and Harry understood - mostly - that Draco hadn't kept Jamie a secret for malicious reasons. When prompted further on it, though, Draco would shut down until Harry changed the subject.

  
One conversation in particular stood out for Harry. He and Draco had been speaking quietly while Jamie, curled up in Harry's lap and resting his head on Harry's shoulder, slept soundly.

  
_"Why does your mother call him Scorpius if everyone else calls him Jamie?"_

_  
"It is his name," Draco said matter-of-factly._

_  
"But clearly he prefers Jamie - it's how he introduced himself to me and what he's used to being called."_

_  
"Mother chose the name Scorpius, not I. She said that James is far too common a name for a Malfoy," Draco added with just the barest hint of a smirk._

_  
"What's wrong with the name James?" Harry challenged predictably, and then the obvious realisation finally dawned._

_  
"I wasn't entirely unfeeling where you were concerned, obviously - Jamie wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." Draco's eyes were drawn to the boy in Harry's arms. "I wanted Scorpius to have some part of you in his name, and James was the most aesthetically pleasing choice."_

_  
Harry felt a rush of gratitude, but didn't know how to voice it._

_  
"I bet you were relieved that he didn't look like me," he joked lightly._

_  
"Well of course he wouldn't," Draco said as though the mere idea of it was absurd._

_  
"He might have."_

_  
"No, Potter, he couldn't. You weren't there."_

_  
"What does that have to do with who he favors?"_

_  
"Everything," Draco answered, looking at Harry as though he had the common sense of a garden gnome._

_  
"I. . . don't get it."_

_  
"Clearly." Draco adjusted the bed coverings around him before explaining further. "These sorts of pregnancies are extremely old magic, Potter. It takes more than just two people's biological code to create another life inside of a body that wasn't created for such things. Jamie fed not only from my body while he was growing inside of me, but also from my magic. It is what dictates who he will be just as much as his DNA."_

_  
Draco took a drink of water from the bedside carafe, and Harry waited patiently, genuinely interested in learning more._

_  
"Since the pregnancy was such a drain on both my body and my magic, as is the case with all male pregnancies, the second parent is tasked with picking up the slack, as it were. The only other person who knew was my mother, and as she was the stronger magical being at the time, Jamie's own inert magic favoured hers during his development. That's why he looks so much like her."_

  
Harry had gone home that night hoping that Jamie hadn't also inherited Narcissa's penchant for looking as though there were something smelly under her nose when she encountered people she felt were beneath her.

  
Harry never wanted his son to feel as though he were better than anyone else.

  
"You could come to my show if you like," Harry offered as an olive branch of sorts on Draco's last day of bed rest.

  
"Potter, are you asking me if I'd like to come over and see your sketches?" Draco smirked as he examined himself in the mirror while combing his hair.

  
"I suppose that I am, yeah," Harry laughed, and refrained from mocking Draco's moment of vanity.

  
"Can I come, too?" Jamie asked excitedly.

  
"Sure, if your dad comes with you" Harry said conspiratorially in a mock whisper.

  
"Mother will fuss about me overextending myself too soon."

  
"The physical therapy is going well, isn't it?"

  
"Nearly ninety-percent back to where I was before the curse, yes. Just a bit of weakness in the arms, still."

  
"You could just make an appearance and then come back home," Harry suggested, hoping that they could both come and stay longer than just 'an appearance.'

  
"Come on, dad, it'll be fun!" Jamie exclaimed, bouncing on the foot of Draco's bed. "Harry's really good at his job - show him, Harry!"

  
"Unfortunately, I don't keep my portfolio with me at all times," Harry said with an exaggerated sigh, "but now that you mention it, I had thought about using the photograph that I took of you on the first day we met in my show - provided that it's all right with your dad, of course."

  
Harry looked at Draco expectantly.

  
"Really?" the boy said eagerly, raising up on his knees and turning toward his father. "Can he, dad?"

  
Draco eyed Harry warily. "I don't know."

  
"Oh _come on_ , dad, please?"

  
"We'll see."

  
"Let me know tonight if you can," Harry said, standing and preparing to leave. "I already have something I could use in lieu of, so it's no problem if you say no, but I need to give the replacement to the gallery tomorrow morning if I'm going to use it."

  
The photograph had been a happy accident. Harry hadn't even focused his camera for the shot, having taken it just to placate the request of a curious boy in a park. When he'd finally got around to developing it weeks after his first meeting with Jamie, he'd been pleasantly surprised by the result. Harry didn't take many portrait photographs, but even before he knew that the boy in the photograph was his own flesh and blood, it had become the personal favourite in his collection.

  
"I need to go - I have a lot to do before the show tomorrow."

  
"Aw, do you have to, Harry?" Jamie pouted.

  
"I'm sure that Harry's very busy, Jamie, and we've monopolized enough of his time lately," Draco said to his son, but his eyes were on Harry.

  
Harry felt strangely exposed on his gaze.

  
"It's no bother," Harry replied, moving toward the door. "I'll leave two tickets for you at the box office."

  
Jamie jumped off the bed to hug Harry goodbye, but before Harry left, he paused at the doorway of Draco's bedroom and turned.

  
"I really do hope that you can make it."

  
Draco nodded, a small but nonetheless genuine smile on his face. Harry left as he felt his cheeks grow warm.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
Harry's statement was true - spending time with them, Draco and Jamie both, had been. . . nice. Of course, he loved his moments with Jamie when it was just the two of them, but he felt like he'd found out more about Draco in the preceding four weeks than he ever had during their Hogwarts days. The years they'd spent tormenting each other in school was like another lifetime now, and Harry had a hard time reconciling the Draco he knew then with the Draco he knew now.

  
Fatherhood had a far more profound effect on the man than war ever did, and it was most certainly for the better.

  
Draco was patient and kind with his son, and Jamie revealed to Harry several days ago when he had taken Jamie out for an ice cream that he hadn't been punished for his duplicity with the letters and finding Harry. Draco had apparently told Jamie that being deprived of the truth was punishment enough for any misdeed, and in turn apologised to the boy for never having revealed the truth about his parentage.

  
Jamie had also peppered Harry with stories that told him what kind of a father Draco was. It was clear that Jamie held his father on a very high pedestal, speaking of him like he could do no wrong - but it wasn't the sort of idolization done out of fear like he had witnessed Draco do with Lucius. Jamie believed above all else that his dad really had hung the moon, and he could bring the sun and stars out of the sky if Jamie merely asked him to. Jamie talked about frequent trips to the zoo, horse riding lessons, and first flights on a broomstick. He also talked about late night bedtime stories and how Draco would hold him tight when there was a thunderstorm, promising that no harm would come to him.

  
That was the Draco that Harry was getting to know, and he found that he rather liked this man - Draco the Father as opposed to Draco the Slytherin. This was a man that he could see actually raising a child with, which was exactly what Harry intended to do. Jamie was his son - a fact that he was still in awe of and trying to wrap his head around - and nothing short of the end of the world was going to separate them.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
Opening night at the Smythe Gallery in Fitzrovia was, in a word, chaos. It was to be expected, however, and theirs was more organised than others that Harry had experienced. The doors were set to open in just under an hour, and both Stuart and Stephanie had already arrived for moral support - that and to keep Harry from drinking one too many dirty martinis before the show even started. Harry hated the attention that a gallery show brought - he didn't mind the attention on the work, that was the whole point of a show in the first place, but there were also the inevitable journalists-slash-critics who wanted time with the 'artist' - a label Harry scoffed at.

  
"This piece is really stunning, Harry. I can't take my eyes off of it," Stephanie said as Harry approached her, gesturing toward the large portrait of Jamie that was showcased on the back wall - the centerpiece of his show.

  
Harry had received an owl that morning from Draco giving him permission to use the photograph - sight unseen - and promised to be at the show that evening with Jamie. Harry was glad now that he'd never told Stuart about the photograph of his former lover in bed, as it had now been relegated to a side wall toward the front. Harry still loved that picture, but it was no longer what he wanted as the centerpiece.

  
"Who is it?" Stuart asked as he walked over, standing next to Harry.

  
"His name is Jamie," Harry answered, then took a deep breath. "He's my son."

  
Two sets of eyes turned on him, wide with surprise.

  
"You're having us on," Stephanie laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

  
Stuart's mouth hung open in shock as he realised that Harry wasn't joking at all.

  
"Oh my _God_ , Harry, why didn't you tell us?" Stephanie said, smacking him again on the arm, much harder this time.

  
Harry took a step back, and his two friends moved to stand side by side, staring at him - two against one. Stuart, Harry noticed, looked more hurt than anything else.

  
"I only just found out," Harry admitted sheepishly.

  
"That's wonderful!" Stephanie said and flung her arms around him, practically bouncing on her obscenely high heels. "When can we meet him?"

  
"Hopefully tonight," Harry said, removing a sequin from his tie that had come loose from Stephanie's red sparkly dress during her exuberant embrace. "He's coming with his- the man that raised him."

  
Harry hadn't thought far enough ahead to come up with a plausible story about who exactly Draco was to Jamie beyond 'the man that raised him.' He could work out the details later, but he knew that he wouldn't lie about who the boy in the photograph was when his friends inevitably asked about him.

  
"I'm. . . stunned," Stuart finally said.

  
Harry gave what he hoped was a sympathetic grin.

  
"So, tell us, who's the lucky bird that convinced you to give women a go, eh? Will she be here, too?" Stephanie leered at him and sipping her champagne.

  
"Um," Harry started to say, and was thankfully saved from having to say anything further by the arrival of Winston Smythe, the gallery owner.

  
"Harry, my boy, it looks to be an excellent show on this gorgeous summer evening," Winston proclaimed in his rich baritone - he was a big man with a big voice, and an even bigger bank account.

  
"Thank you, sir, and thanks again for the opportunity."

  
"Nonsense - the gratitude is all mine. You're the next big up and comer, I hear. It just wouldn't do to not have you show in my gallery."

  
"Well I appreciate your confidence in me. I hope the crowd meets your expectations."

  
Harry took Mr Smythe for a turn around the gallery, pointing out certain pieces of which he was particularly proud. He was glad to find that the man with one of the best eyes for art in the city agreed with Harry's assessment of Jamie's portrait. By the time they'd finished talking, it was just over twenty minutes to the show's start and there was already an impressive queue forming outside.

  
"Harry, there's a man with a little boy outside at the box office who say that they're guests of yours," Yvette, the Gallery's administrator said as she poked her head around the corner. "Should we let them in?"

  
"Yes, please, and see if they want anything to drink, please," Harry said eagerly, straightening his tie. He found it suddenly hard to breathe, so worried was he about impressing not just his son with the large portrait on display, but also Draco.

  
Part of Harry felt like he had to prove himself worthy of being a parent to Jamie, and photography was no longer just a hobby but his livelihood. He didn't normally feel like he was putting himself on display at his shows, but tonight - with Draco and Jamie there - he did.

  
Draco appeared from around the corner with Jamie by his side. They had both dressed smartly for the occasion, with Jamie in neatly pressed navy trousers and matching pinstriped shirt, and Draco looking smart in a charcoal coloured ensemble, holding a mimosa in one hand and Jamie's soda in the other. Harry stared longer than he should have at the other man, inwardly justifying the appraisal under the pretense of looking for any sign that Draco might not be feeling well, but Draco appeared to be just fine.

  
More than fine, even.

  
"Hello? Earth to Harry?" Stephanie interrupted by waving a hand in front of his face. "Going to introduce us, then?"

  
Harry felt his cheeks flush at being caught staring. Draco merely looked amused at the extra attention.

  
"Sorry, yeah," Harry started, feeling like his tongue no longer fit in his mouth. "Draco, this is Stephanie, and this is Stuart - they're friends of mine."

  
"Pleasure," Draco said with an outstretched hand after handing Jamie his soda.

  
"The pleasure's all mine, believe me," Stephanie said, giving Draco an appreciative once-over and taking his hand. "And this gorgeous young man must be Jamie," she added as Draco greeted Stuart.

  
"Hi," Jamie said shyly, moving toward Harry and pressing tightly to his side. Harry put his arm around the boy and gave an encouraging squeeze. Jamie looked up at him and smiled brightly.

  
"Come on, Stuart, let's go and raid the hors d'oeuvres before they let in the stampede."

  
Harry watched them go, and just before they disappeared into the back room, Stuart looked over his shoulder and gave Harry a long look that he couldn't interpret.

  
"You look like you're feeling well, Draco," Harry offered, wanting to break the unexpected and strange tension that had fallen over them.

  
"I'm good, thank you."

  
"Where's my picture, Harry?" Jamie asked quietly.

  
"Eager to see it, are you?"

  
Jamie nodded, bouncing on his heels.

  
"Well, go and see if you can find it while I show your dad around."

  
Jamie didn't look to Draco for permission - a seemingly inconsequential detail, but because Jamie had always looked to Draco for permission whenever Harry suggested something in front of his father, Harry took this as a small win - as though Harry giving permission, as his other parent, was enough.

  
The gallery had been set up with photographs all around the perimeter and several half-walls were suspended from the ceiling in the middle of the space where the smaller pieces were displayed. The idea was that one would walk through the gallery in a zig-zag pattern and follow the natural flow of the work.

  
"Is this where you show me your sketches?" Draco asked innocently before taking a sip of his mimosa.

  
"I can honestly say that I've never used anything even resembling that sort of pick-up line."

  
"Not even on Stuart?" Draco said with a knowing glint in his eye.

  
Harry was not a little bit surprised at the other man's correct assumption.

  
"How did you know?"

  
"The way he looked at you."

  
"That's been over for a long time," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling exposed. "We're just friends now."

  
"Does he know that?"

  
Harry shrugged, not wanting to talk about his former relationship. Harry filed Draco's statement away for later examination, though, along with Stuart's odd stare from earlier.

  
"Come on," Harry said, tugging lightly on Draco's silk sleeve, "there are a few pictures that I want to show you."

  
**\\\\\\***///**

 

"I'm suitably impressed, Potter," Draco finally said as they were about to make their way around the wall that would reveal Jamie's portrait. 

  
Jamie was now being distracted by the catering staff who were stuffing him full of various sweet and savoury morsels. The boy had already found his picture not long after Harry had dismissed him several minutes earlier, exclaiming his excitement loud enough for even the patrons queued up outside to hear. The doors would be opening at any moment, but Harry really wanted Draco to see the portrait before the public filed in and distracted them.

  
"Well, I hope you're still impressed in the next ten seconds," Harry said, running a hand through his hair in a self-conscious gesture as they made their way around the corner.

  
Harry took a few steps forward and looked at the portrait with the eye of someone seeing it for the first time, and then looked over, eager to see the expression on Draco's face - but Draco wasn't there.

  
Harry looked behind him, and found the other man standing at the edge of the hanging wall from whence they'd just turned, staring in awe at the massive photograph of their son.

  
Jamie was in the far left side of the photograph, his body visible from the shoulders and above, looking upward with a wide open expression that only a child can possess. Harry knew that it was he who had held the boy's attention when the picture was taken, but from the viewer's vantage point, it appeared that Jamie was looking up into the trees, his mouth open slightly as though enthralled by what lay just beyond the edge of the shot. The background was slightly blurred, the camera having automatically focused in on Jamie, and the effect made soft lines of the tall trees and imposing architecture of the hotel behind him. A soft gust of wind must have blown at the time that Harry'd taken the shot, as Jamie's already messy hair was made all the more wild as it was picked up by an unseen breeze.

  
Harry stood there watching Draco stare at the picture, eyes bright and his mouth gaping slightly almost in tandem with his son's portrait, and Harry felt a warm flush along his skin.

  
"Well?" Harry asked in a whisper, almost afraid to hear the answer. What if he'd misinterpreted Draco's expression, and the other man secretly hated it?

  
In the distance, Harry could hear Winston Smythe's loud voice directing that the doors should be opened, and shortly thereafter, the first set of patrons began to enter the front section of the gallery.

  
Draco closed the distance between himself and Harry to stand beside him, their arms touching. His gaze never left the photograph on the wall in front of him, and Harry suddenly felt fingers wrapping around the palm of his hand.

  
"It's wonderful," Draco finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  
"You really think so?"

  
Draco turned to look at him. "He looks so. . ."

  
"Beautiful?" Harry smiled.

  
"Yes," Draco breathed.

  
Harry basked in the praise.

  
"Draco?"

  
"Yeah?"

  
Harry motioned with their joined hands, careful not to lose Draco's solid grip, at the boy in the photograph.

  
"We made him, you and I."

  
"We did," Draco laughed softly as he looked over at Harry.

  
"He's amazing," Harry said, feeling suddenly breathless, and they both turned their attention back to the portrait.

  
"I know."

  
Draco gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze.

  
The crowd started to make their way further into the gallery, eventually surrounding the two men that stood side by side - hand in hand - and who were quite content to ignore everyone around them as they enjoyed their shared secret.

  
**\\\\\ _August_ ///**

  
"Be careful, Jamie - we haven't time for an emergency trip to hospital for broken bones," Draco called out to his son who was trying with all his might to reach a thick tree branch just out of his reach so that he could swing from it like he saw two older boys doing on the other side of the park.

  
"Want to give him a helping hand?" Harry asked, gesturing to the wand he knew Draco kept tucked up his sleeve.

  
"I don't fancy a citation from the Ministry for performing magic in front of Muggles, so no."

  
"No one will see," Harry said, looking around them from where they sat on a bench a few feet away from the boy.

  
"I read about last week's show in The Times on Sunday; they were quite enamored with you."

  
"Yeah, I saw that," Harry said, feeling his cheeks warm from more than just the summer sun - he never had learned to take a compliment.

  
"So this is where our son found you?"

  
"Just over there, actually," Harry pointed in the direction of the large hollyoak where Jamie had first approached him.

  
"Such a clever boy," Draco deadpanned, but Harry heard the secret pride in his voice.

  
"He really is," Harry replied earnestly, standing to face Draco. "It's obvious to anyone who meets him that you're a good father."

  
Draco stared up at him in thinly veiled surprise at the unexpected pronouncement.

  
"I. . . thank you."

  
"I mean that." Harry looked over at Jamie, the boy's attentions now focused on a butterfly that had landed on a nearby cluster of wildflowers. "I wish that I could have known him before."

  
From his peripheral, Harry could see Draco stiffen at the remark.

  
"I already apologised for that," he said quietly, "I'm not sure what else you want me to-"

  
"I didn't mean it like that, Draco," Harry said, focusing his attention back on the other man. "I mean, of course I regret not having been there from day one, and while I'll never fully understand your reasoning or your sudden bout of altruism where I was concerned, I at least understand that it wasn't done out of selfishness or hate."

  
Harry hoped that his words had soothed any ruffled feathers. Draco was quiet for several moments as he looked away, and Harry wasn't sure.

  
"You're wrong," Draco finally said.

  
"Sorry?"

  
"I was selfish," Draco said, turning his attention back to Harry.

  
"You know what I meant."

  
"No, I understand exactly what you mean - you're the one who doesn't understand."

  
"Then explain it to me."

  
Harry sat down next to him again.

  
"Of course I was selfish, Potter - I still am. And yes, _of course_ I considered the ramifications of my telling you that you had a child about to be born. You, who had proven yet again to be the Saviour of All Wizardkind, were going to be a father, and the inconvenient fact of the matter was that the other half of the equation involved me - a person that most wizards still wouldn't spit on if I were on fire." Draco took a deep breath, and Harry didn't interrupt him as he continued. "You left the Wizarding World by _choice_ , but my mum and I were forced out. Once word got out that the child was half mine - and rest assured it would have, these things always do - you would have had every solicitor on this godforsaken sceptered isle putting a bug in your ear about _unsavoury upbringings_ and _guaranteed full custody_."

  
Harry wondered when the conversation between them had taken such an abrupt turn.

  
"That's not-"

  
"And as for the altruism," Draco interrupted him, "on that point you're _not_ wrong. I was going to tell you, Potter, and as you have surely surmised by reading the letters that my son so graciously provided to you - despite the fact that I would have rather _burned_ them then let them ever see the light of day again - I chose not to after the story in the Prophet about your supposed impending nuptials to the Weasley chit."

  
"Hey," Harry interjected defensively on behalf of Ginny.

  
"Believe it or not, Potter," Draco kept on, standing and walking toward where Jamie sat at the base of a tree, "I did give thought to whether or not I wanted to ruin your life by showing up with a baby in tow and insuring the inevitable meltdown of your Big Happy Weasley Family."

  
Harry wasn't sure how to respond to any of the things that Draco had said, or the increasingly unkind tone with which it was delivered. While it answered some questions, it only made Harry more confused. He felt like there was something just beyond his mental grasp that he should be able to grab onto, but had no idea what or how to reach it. All he knew was that there was a piece missing from the puzzle, and Draco's growing irritation with him made Harry feel strangely bereft.

  
"Why did you keep him?" Harry asked after several tense moments - a question he'd long wanted the answer to but never felt he had the right to ask.

  
Draco looked at him sharply before coming back to stand in front of him. Jamie still sat at the base of the tree, thankfully out of earshot.

  
"How could I not? He wasn't just half yours, Potter, he was also half mine, and despite the fact that he came to be in less than ideal circumstances, _I_ wanted him."

  
"You hated me." It wasn't a question.

  
"Yes."

  
"What happened that day was-" Harry started to say quietly, but was interrupted.

  
"It was what it was, Harry," Draco sighed, turning to watch Jamie again.

  
"I still don't understand."

  
"Yes, well, you never were the most observant person in the world, were you?"

  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, stung by the unexpected insult.

  
"None of it matters anymore," Draco answered, beginning to walk toward the large fountain feature nearby and calling for Jamie to follow.

  
"Maybe it matters to me." Harry picked up Jamie's rucksack from the bench before catching up with Draco and grabbing hold of his arm, halting Draco's progress. "Help me out, Draco. What am I missing here?"

  
Draco closed his eyes for several moments in consternation before taking a deep breath.

  
"The potion never touched me."

  
Harry wasn't sure he'd heard Draco correctly, but there was no question of which potion Draco was referring to.

  
"Dad, can I play in the water?" Jamie called out from across the way.

  
"Yes," Harry answered his son quickly, not wanting to be derailed.

  
"It's _Dad_ , now, is it?" Draco said with thinly veiled derision.

  
"Technically, yes, and what do you mean the potion never touched you?"

  
Harry was beginning to feel like he'd been playing the fool without ever knowing it.

  
"Again with the inability to observe."

  
"Dammit, Draco!" Harry shouted, "What the hell is going on?"

  
"It never touched my skin, all right!" Draco yelled back, then looked over to see Jamie watching them both in concern before Draco leaned forward and whispered furiously, "I was in full control of my faculties that day and what I did with you, I did of my own free will. I _wanted it_. Are you happy now?"

  
Harry felt as though he'd been slapped.

  
"Wait- what? It was all over you, _I remember_ -"

  
"On my _clothes_ , not me," Draco bit out through tightly clenched teeth. "The potion only had an worked if in direct contact with the skin, or ingested."

  
Draco pulled his arm free from Harry's grasp and walked quickly toward the fountain, its high jets of water splashing onto the pavement and soaking Draco's shoes. Jamie was already drenched head to toe when he led the boy behind a particularly large tree and charmed his son dry without any passing Muggles noticing.

  
"Dad, where are we going? Is Harry coming?" Jamie asked, confused and worried at his father's unexpectedly angry mood.

  
"We're going home, and no, Harry isn't coming."

  
"Why, did you have a row?"

  
"Go and get your rucksack from Harry," Draco directed him, ignoring his question.

  
"Is it because I got all wet?"

  
Harry could tell from this short distance that Jamie was on the verge of crying, and he felt a rush of anger toward Draco for upsetting the boy over something that had nothing to do with him.

  
" _Now_ , Scorpius," Draco said when the boy didn't move.

  
Jamie startled at the use of his given name, and with his head down and shoulders slumped, he slowly walked over toward where Harry stood waiting.

  
"I have to go now," the boy said sadly, reaching for the straps of his bag.

  
Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat and knelt down, touching Jamie's chin and forcing his son to look at him.

  
"I'll see you soon, okay?" Jamie nodded, but Harry saw the unshed tears in his eyes. "Sometimes grown-ups have arguments, you know that - it doesn't mean that they stop talking forever."

  
Harry's anger that had matched Draco's own was deflating fast - Harry was now more hurt than anything else, not just at having been lied to about the potion accident, but at the fact that the friendship that had developed with Draco over the past several weeks seemed to have taken a rapidly sharp turn in the wrong direction.

  
Harry could see Draco out of the corner of his eye crossing his arms impatiently.

  
"Can you keep a secret?" Harry asked, his voice low as he leaned in close.

  
Jamie nodded, his face losing some of its forlorn expression at the prospect of keeping Harry's confidence.

  
"You're dad isn't angry because you got all wet, he's just embarrassed because of something that I did."

  
The boy looked over at Draco.

  
"Then fix it," Jamie said, turning back to Harry.

  
"I can't - sometimes when we admit to things we don't want others to know, we get cross with ourselves, and that's how your dad is feeling right now."

  
"So I'm not in trouble for running through the fountain?"

  
"No, you're not in trouble," Harry answered. He gave Jamie a hug before kissing the top of his head and, with a gentle push, sent him over to where Draco was waiting.

  
The other man took hold of Jamie's hand and turned to leave without so much as a glance in Harry's direction.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
"I can't imagine having a kid out there and never knowing," Stuart said, breaking a hazelnut biscotti in two and handing one half of it to Harry.

  
"It was a shock, yeah."

  
Harry had called Stuart and invited him to the coffee shop around the corner from Stuart's flat - the one where they'd spent many a Sunday afternoon after a lie in, reading the papers and eating too many pastries.

  
They'd been there for about half an hour, catching up on the minutia of each other's lives before Harry had finally mentioned the elephant in the room. He was surprised that Stuart hadn't brought it up first, and while he had asked Harry questions about Jamie, it seemed more out of some sense of obligation than genuine curiosity.

  
"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you when I first found out. I just needed some time to wrap my head around it all," Harry said to break the awkward silence, sipping his Darjeeling.

  
"You were busy with the show as well," Stuart added.

  
"That, too - and you never did say what you thought of a certain photograph that was featured quite prominently near the front." Harry grinned at him over his coffee cup, but Stuart's expression was anything but pleased - he looked troubled.

  
"You hated it," Harry said, putting his cup down and looking regretfully at his friend.

  
"No, it was great, it's just. . ."

  
"What?" Harry prodded.

  
Stuart looked up at him, his gaze intense.

  
"I was surprised to see it there."

  
"I should have asked first, you're right - I'm sorry."

  
"I don't need you to say you're sorry, Harry," Stuart gave a beleaguered sigh. "The picture was fine, I just wasn't expecting you to use something so. . ."

  
"What?"

  
" _Intimate_."

  
"Oh," Harry said, surprised by Stuart's choice of word.

  
"This Draco fellow, you two have a history together?" Stuart asked, changing the subject without warning.

  
"Er, you could say that. We went to school together."

  
"That isn't what I meant."

  
Harry ran his finger around the rim of his cup.

  
"The only history there is an ugly one - he hated my guts, and the feeling was mutual."

  
"Certainly didn't look like you two hated each other at the gallery last week," Stuart said, stirring the broken biscotti into his tea.

  
"Stuart-"

  
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you two had crossed over that proverbial thin line - or maybe I _do_ know better."

  
Harry's relationship - or lack thereof, past and present - with Draco was at the top of the list of last things he wanted to discuss with Stuart.

  
"There's never going to be another chance for you and me, is there?"

  
Harry felt like he was getting whiplash from the abrupt shifts in conversation, and Stuart's question took him completely by surprise.

  
"You wanted one?"

  
"That shocks you?"

  
"Well. . . yes, quite frankly it does," Harry admitted, thrown completely off-guard by the admission. "Stuart, you and I have been over for a long time and-"

  
"Not that long."

  
"It's been almost _four years_ , Stuart."

  
An uneasy silence fell over them.

  
"I didn't know that you still. . ."

  
"Have feelings for you? You were the one who wanted to end things, Harry - not me."

  
"My reasons haven't changed," Harry said softly.

  
"Harry, can I offer you a bit of friendly advice as your former lover?"

  
Harry nodded, unsure if he wanted to hear what was going to come next.

  
"You need to find whoever it is that you're holding that torch for and settle things with them already. I've wondered for a long time who it might be , who it was that kept you from _really_ giving yourself to me when we were together-"

  
"I gave plenty of myself to you, Stuart," Harry defended himself, bristling at the implication.

  
"No, you were on loan - from Draco, I suspect."

  
Harry's mouth gaped, and Stuart pointed at him knowingly as he sipped his tea.

  
"There's a lot that you don't know about my history with Draco."

  
"Oh, I have no doubt about that, Harry."

  
"I don't recall you regurgitating every last detail about your list of former lovers when we were together," he said defensively.

  
"So you admit it, then?"

  
"Admit what?"

  
"You and Draco were lovers."

  
"It was _one time_ , and it had nothing to do with love, believe me," Harry scoffed.

  
"People who hate each other don't just fall into bed together, not even for a one-off."

  
Harry heard Draco's voice in his head. . . _"The potion never touched my skin. . . I wanted it."_

  
"You're still attracted to him," Stuart said softly. It wasn't a question.

  
Harry started to say no - wanted to say no - but the word wouldn't come out.

  
"Your silence is confirmation enough."

  
"Stuart, listen-" Harry started to say, wanting to placate the other man and change the subject entirely.

  
"I have an appointment that I'm going to be late for," Stuart interrupted, rising from his seat.

  
"Fine," Harry said broodingly, wondering why everyone who mattered seemed to be angry at him lately.

  
"I need a break from you, Harry."

  
"What? _Why_?"

  
"Maybe I'll get over you, or maybe I won't, but regardless, I need time away from you to get my head sorted. And my heart."

  
Harry didn’t know how to respond, but knew that he couldn't sit there and say nothing as Stuart dug a few coins out of his pocket and tossed onto the table for the busboy.

  
"I'm sorry, Stuart - I had no idea."

  
"No, you never did."

  
Harry watched as Stuart walked out of the coffee shop, wondering if they'd ever be able to close the chasm in their friendship that, before today, Harry thought was only a minor crack on the surface. An hour - and far too many lattes - later, Harry grew weary of his navel-gazing and left, heading in the direction of the nearest Apparition point.

  
**\\\\\\***///**

  
"Master Scorpius is being out with Mistress Narcissa, and will not be home for some time, Harry Potter. They is shopping for Master's school supplies in Diagon Alley."

  
"Actually, Effie, I'm here to see Master Draco - is he home?"

  
"Master Draco is busy and isn't to be disturbed unless there is an emergency of a most dire nature."

  
"Oh, well this is a very dire emergency," Harry lied easily, "Could you please tell him that I'm here?"

  
Effie scowled at him, but disappeared with a loud pop. Several minutes later, Draco walked into the hall where Harry'd been left to wait, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

  
"Potter, I'm terribly busy," Draco said in a dismissive and bored tone as he approached, "so your emergency had better involve something that I actually care about to justify pulling me away from my work."

  
Harry had planned on inquiring after Draco's health and making small talk about Jamie and the weather before easing his way into asking the other man out on a date, but then Draco appeared wearing a long black robe and making Harry recall the way that Draco had looked on that day eleven years earlier when he'd given Harry the best orgasm of his life.

  
_"What I did with you, I did of my own free will. I wanted it."_

  
Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry walked toward Draco, the other man backing into the nearest wall at Harry's rapid approach in a futile attempt to keep some distance between them. Harry had never wanted to kiss another person as much as he did in that moment, but as he raised his hands and cupped Draco's face, breathing in the smell of ink and new parchment and leaning forward to touch Draco's lips with his own, a firm hand on his chest pushed him away.

  
"What are you doing, Potter?" Draco asked incredulously.

  
"Isn't it obvious?"

  
"No, actually, it isn't."

  
He pushed at Harry again, but it was a futile effort - Harry wasn't moving.

  
"And you say that I'm the unobservant one?" Harry asked with a crooked grin.

  
"Do I look amused?" Draco's harsh tone was softened by the hurt behind his eyes, and Harry sobered at the sight of it.

  
"I'm not trying to amuse you, I was trying to kiss you."

  
"Why?"

  
"Because I wanted to."

  
"That's not an answer."

  
"Well, it's the only one I've got," Harry said defensively, suddenly thinking that he had made a terrible mistake by showing up at Draco's home.

  
"Why are you here, Potter?"

  
Harry's hands slid down Draco's neck, falling to rest at his sides as he began to back away from Draco.

  
"Well stupid me, I thought that after what you said yesterday, you would have been a tad more receptive-"

  
"A tad more _receptive_?"

  
"Yes, after you'd had time to get over yesterday's little fit of embarrassment-"

  
"Get out," Draco spat, suddenly just as angry as he'd been with Harry the day before in the park.

  
"What? No-"

  
"How _dare_ you come in here after lying to my house elf about a false emergency and _presume_ that I want anything from you at all!" Draco shouted at him, raising a finger and pointing at him accusingly, "Because let me tell you something, Potter," he continued, poking Harry hard in the chest with every word as though trying to press them through his skin, "I'm not some frightened little teenager anymore waiting for The Golden Boy to rescue me and _ummpfh_ -"

  
Harry ceased the flow of words from Draco's mouth by covering it with his own. It could hardly be called a kiss, as Draco was attempting to verbalise his outrage over being accosted without his permission while Harry was just trying to hold on. Harry felt a stinging bite on his bottom lip, and just as he was about to pull away and give it up as a lost cause, Draco's hands were in his hair. It was his turn to be pressed against the wall as Draco deftly switched their positions, taking complete control over what was happening between them.

  
Harry moaned his approval for Draco's change of heart beneath the brutal kiss even as the other man bit his lip again.

  
They weren't so much kissing as they were devouring one another; Draco tugging Harry's hair to angle his head in a more favourable position as his tongue licked and caressed the warm wetness of Harry's mouth. Harry wrapped his arms around him, his hands clutching the other man's shoulders desperately, urging Draco to take full advantage of his all-too-willing and pliant body. Harry could feel every inch of Draco pressed against him, relishing every sharp angle and soft line of the other man's solid form. Harry could also feel the hardness that dug into his groin as Draco pinned him even closer to the wall, and adjusted the angle of his hips _just so_ , knowing he'd estimated correctly when Draco groaned appreciatively into his mouth.

  
Harry hadn't had time to give any thought to possibly being interrupted by the return of their son or - God forbid - Draco's mother before their vigorous snogging session had morphed into an equally vigourous frotting session right there in the front hallway. Draco's tongue mirrored each thrust of his hips, and far too soon, they were both coming in their pants like two overly eager teenagers in a race to get off before they got caught.

  
"What is it with us and hard, vertical surfaces?" Draco gasped, having finally separated his lips from Harry's mouth.

  
Harry laughed, resting his forehead against Draco's and cupping his face, not wanting any physical distance between them just yet.

  
"I don't know, but I'm looking forward to comparing it to softer, more horizontal ones."

  
Some unnamed emotion clouded Draco's eyes at Harry's lighthearted, albeit entirely serious, suggestion, and started to pull away.

  
"No, don't," Harry pleaded softly, recognizing instantly what was happening. "Don't shut down on me now, Draco."

  
"I won't do this to Jamie," Draco said quietly.

  
"Do what to Jamie?"

  
"He wants this," Draco gestured between them, "you and me. Us."

  
"Is that so wrong?" Harry asked, secretly pleased at the revelation that Jamie harboured this wish.

  
"It is if we make a mess of things, and you know that we will."

  
"No, actually, I don't know that - and neither do you."

  
Harry punctuated his words with a light kiss on the corner of Draco's mouth.

  
"I won't risk it, Harry," Draco said, pulling away, "I'm sorry but I can't."

  
"Draco, I'm not proposing marriage here. I just want to give it a chance." Harry reached for Draco's hand, grasping it in his own and refusing to let go. "Don't you think we owe each other - and Jamie - at least that?"

  
Draco looked away, and Harry waited.

  
When he finally looked back at him, Harry hadn't a clue what Draco's answer was going to be.

  
"We take things slow, all right?"

  
Harry hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath.

  
"Okay," Harry exhaled.

  
Draco's words exhibited far more caution, but Harry wasn't going to stifle the happy feeling blossoming inside of him.

  
"And none of that diving in head-first like a typical Gryffindor without giving thought to how shallow the water might be."

  
Harry nodded, not caring about the silly grin on his face.

  
"Or how deep."

  
"I can't handle your attempts at being philosophical when my pants are all sticky, Potter," Draco laughed.

  
Harry cast a cleaning charm over them both and kissed a line down Draco's obscenely long neck and around the curve of his jaw. Their lips met, and the kiss this time was lazy and without any urgency. When they parted, Harry was elated to see an equally easy smile on Draco's face.

  
"So about that date," Harry said, breaking the comfortable silence, "how do you feel about dinner tonight?"

  
"I can't," Draco answered, and Harry's good mood sank. "I really was working, and I'll be at it late into the night - I have a lot of catching up to do from when I was ill.

  
"Oh," Harry said sheepishly, relieved that his dinner refusal was only work related and not because Draco had changed his mind again.

  
Much as I enjoyed our little dalliance here in the hallway, it's delayed me even further."

  
"Sorry," Harry added, both of them knowing that he wasn't sorry in the slightest.

  
"I'm not," Draco smirked. "It's been far too long since I've done anything as impetuous as that."

  
"I'll have to infuriate you more often if this is the sort of impetuousness that it causes."

  
"Shallow waters, Potter," Draco chided gently. "I'm no longer the boy that you knew, and you're certainly not the man that I _thought_ you had become. If we're going to make an honest go of it, then for Jamie's sake, we need a solid foundation - friends first, and then. . . well, we'll just see what happens."

  
"Fair enough," Harry grinned, "Although. . ."

  
"Yes?"

  
"Does that mean you won't kiss on the first date?"

  
"Go home, Potter," Draco laughed, shoving him playfully toward the door.

  
"Mind if I stop by later to see Jamie?"

  
"You needn't ask, he's your son, too," Draco answered, smoothing the front of his robes. Harry felt warm inside at the open invitation.

  
"What about dinner?"

  
Draco paused, contemplating.

  
"Tomorrow night, seven-thirty," Draco finally declared. "The Square on Bruton Street in Mayfair. I'll let Giuseppe know we're coming - he'll fit us in."

  
After a final lingering kiss - likely their last for a long while if Draco was going to hold firm to his 'friends first' mantra - Harry walked through the door of the three-story house in Kensington and into the hustle and bustle of a hot summer day. He would see his son later that evening, and see the excitement in his son's eyes as he shared with Harry all of the new and exciting things that he was going to take with him to Hogwarts in September, eager to embark on the next phase of his young life.

  
Harry hoped that by the time Jamie completed his first year, he and Draco would already be well on their way with the next phase of their lives as well - together.

 

_****EPILOGUE**** _

  
"Who's that girl?" Harry whispered in Draco's ear, "I thought that he was dating Sylvia?"

  
"Do you even read your son's letters?" Draco asked him. "He broke up with Sylvia _two girlfriends ago_."

  
"Oh," Harry said, scratching his chin.

  
"Those must be her parents over there judging by the way they're shooting daggers at our son while he mauls her mouth with his tongue."

  
"Ugh, must you be so descriptive?" Harry grimaced, looking away from where his son was doing exactly as Draco described.

  
"I happen to be glad that our son isn't afraid to show affection in public."

  
Harry raised their joined hands and waved them in front of Draco's face.

  
"We show affection."

  
"It was a statement, not an accusation, Potter," Draco said matter-of-factly before calling out to Jamie.

  
"Let's go, Casanova, we've got dinner plans."

  
"Christ, he's grown eight inches since last we saw him."

  
"Two - and what do you expect? He's sixteen," Draco shrugged, "It's what they do - boys grow."

  
"He'll be taller than both of us combined by the time he comes home from seventh year at the rate he's going."

  
Jamie finally approached them, and Harry tried to ignore the smear of bright pink lipstick on the corner of his mouth.

  
"Hey dads, ready to go?" he smiled brightly.

  
"What, no 'hello, how are you? Thanks so much for coming to fetch me from the train station?'"

  
"Leave the boy alone, Draco, can't you see he's trying to mask the pain of separation from his one true love?" Harry said in mock seriousness, "Or is she the eighth? I've lost count," Harry said, counting off the name's he remembered seeing in Jamie's letters over the past two years.

  
"Shove off, dad," Jamie blushed, straightening his glasses.

  
"You need a haircut," Draco proclaimed, tousling the already messy mop with his fingers, then removing the lipstick from Jamie's face.

  
"But Rosie likes my hair the way it is."

  
"I don't know, I kind of like it longer," Harry offered at Jamie's crestfallen expression. "Who's Rosie?"

  
"Hopefully the girl whose tonsils he was inspecting mere moments ago - and he looks like the mutt you dragged home last month."

  
"We got a new dog?" Jamie asked, all talk of unwanted haircuts instantly forgotten. "Brilliant!"

  
Maisy had died just before Jamie had come home for Christmas during his first year at Hogwarts. Life had been hectic then, with Harry in the midst of doing his second photography book (portraits this time) and the beginning of Harry and Draco venturing into the world of co-habitation.

  
They had both kept true to their word and had let things progress at an achingly slow pace the month before they'd put Jamie onto the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. The problem was that once Jamie had been miles away at school, there'd no longer been a buffer in the house in the form of a ten year-old boy needing lots of attention to temper the increasingly electric sexual tension between his parents. They'd soon come to the realisation that all bets were off.

  
Two weeks into Jamie's first school year, Harry and Draco had fallen into bed together on a Saturday afternoon. The sex he'd had with Draco while under the influence of the lust potion years earlier was soon after relegated to the second slot on Harry's list of the best sex he'd ever had.

  
And two and a half months after that, Narcissa had interrupted a not-so-secret and increasingly heated argument between the men concerning where they would live if they agreed to move in together. One of Draco's sticking points being his lack of courage in telling his mother, who by then had only tentatively given her blessing to the relationship, and whether or not she would feel pushed out of their home.

  
_"I'm rather fond of French Country. Were you aware of that, Mr Potter?"_

_  
"Er. . ."_

_  
"Since you two seemingly grown men cannot work out what is an exceedingly obvious solution to your issue, might I propose one?"_

_  
"You know?"_

_  
"Draco, my darling, you have no secrets from me - wish as you may that you did."_

_  
Draco's eyes widened._

_  
"You and Harry shall stay here. This is Jamie's home, and he should come back to it for holidays and during the summers. I will reside at Grimmauld Place, a house with which I am quite familiar."_

_  
The boys stared at her, then looked at each other, unspoken words passing between them in silent appraisal of the idea._

_  
"Agreed," they finally said in unison._

  
By the time they'd arrived to meet Jamie at Platform 9 ¾ a few days before Christmas that year, Harry had already moved his things in, and Narcissa was officially living at Grimmauld Place. Harry could still remember fondly the look on his son's face when, shortly after arriving home that December day, he'd figured it out on his own when he saw an extra toothbrush in the bathroom.

  
_"I told you - he's pure Ravenclaw, that one," Harry grinned._

_  
"Shut up."_

  
"So what's the dog's name?" Jamie asked as he straightened his glasses.

  
"He hasn't got one yet, though your dad here probably has the dog fooled into thinking his name is Dammit," Harry said, pointing his thumb at Draco.

  
"He's a _menace_."

  
"I thought that you could give him a name," Harry offered.

  
"I always wanted a dog named Bob."

  
" _Bob_?" Draco drawled, turning to walk toward the exit, "that's not a name, son, that's what dead things do in the water."

  
Harry and Jamie both laughed as they followed him, and Harry nudged his son's shoulder playfully before wrapping his arm around him.

  
"Hurry up, you two - there's a steak out there with my name on it, and you know how Arthur overcooks them if I'm not there to supervise," Draco called out from several steps ahead.

  
"Hey dad," Jamie said, suddenly quiet.

  
"Yeah?"

  
"Missed you."

  
Harry smiled, ruffling Jamie's hair. "Missed you, too, kid. Glad you're home."

  
"Can we go to the park later?" Jamie asked, "I want to try out some nighttime shots with my new camera that dad gave me for Christmas."

  
"Should be a good night for it." A bubble of pride welled up inside Harry's chest at Jamie's continued interest in Harry's field of expertise.

  
"Russell Square Gardens?"

  
"Wouldn’t choose any place else."

 

  
**\\\\\ _fini_ ///**


End file.
